


To be continued

by Jules_In_Neverland



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Domestic Violence, Eventual romance and fluff, Friendship/Love, Multi, Post CoE, Robin avenges Strike against Charlotte, some porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 44
Words: 91,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14116872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_In_Neverland/pseuds/Jules_In_Neverland
Summary: Two months after Robin and Matthew's wedding, Robin's problems with Matthew have only gone in crescendo, her name sits under Strike's in their door as a full partner, and the more she feels closer to Strike and feels more desire towards him, the more problems she has at home with her husband, forcing her to try and distance from Strike. On the other hand, Strike feels closer to Robin than ever after the growth of their friendship during CoE and isn't willing to watch Robin suffer from Matthew in silence much longer.





	1. Chapter 1

Strike was so deep in concentration in his inner office as he looked at the file of Lamp-Hair, their latest client, that he didn’t notice the door of the outer office opening and closing, but funnily enough, he did notice the lack of the usually cheerful salute he was used of getting almost every morning, for close to two years now, since Robin Ellacott –now Cunliffe- had arrived into his office as a secretary for one week. By then, the secretary had slowly taken over his life like a loving disease, filling his days with genuine joy and his office with her nice perfume and her organizing skills, and was now his partner, her name bright under his own at the door.

The woman had married a dickhead, as Strike called him in his mind, two months earlier, and after a couple weeks of honeymoon in Paris, they had come back and Robin had incorporated to job just like that. Or not just like that. Strike had noticed, although he choose not to comment on it, that Robin was more distant with him every day, less cheerful, more desperate to work longer hours and spend less time home or in the office, choosing to do most surveillance jobs.

A fly stopping on top of the word he was currently reading made Strike finally blink and separate from the files, rubbing his tired eyes. He checked his watch, seeing it wasn’t even eight in the morning yet, and a wave of excitement filled his stomach as he remembered what he was waiting for. Today was Robin’s twenty-seventh birthday and Strike had been planning it for days, trying to cheer her up as he had been seeing her strange behaviour. Ilsa had helped, after failing to convince him to ask –‘It’s not my place Ilsa’ he had said, feeling like he shouldn’t intrude despite how close he and Robin had gotten over the Laing case- and now a little box was beautifully wrapped up with a laze in his first drawer.

“Robin?” Strike asked unsure of whether the woman had come in yet, since he had been so distracted and Robin was usually there by then. He had only vaguely thought he heard the door, even thought her usual ‘Morning’ hadn’t come in.

“Yes?” Robin’s voice echoed from the outside office. Strike had offered to move her desk into his office, but Robin had preferred to stay outside. She liked the more illuminated room, with the bigger window and the views she was used to, and Strike felt that in some way, she had wished for him to keep having his own personal space, which he was thankful for. Robin’s voice, sounding rather dull, made him frown slightly, but the excitement for her arrival was bigger, as he jumped to his feet, straightening his shirt –he had ironed a clean blue shirt for the day- and grabbing the little package, walking outside.

“Good morning,” Strike’s lips pressed and curved slightly to form a smile, walking slowly to the girl to test her day’s mood. He had offered her to take her birthday off, but she had refused, and Strike hadn’t really expected otherwise. The strawberry-blonde woman sat in her chair already busy in the computer and Strike saw the shadows that had lately found a home under her eyes were darker, deeper.

“Morning,” answered Robin without looking at him, vaguely doing what seemed like research online. “Any news?” Strike put the package on the desk next to her arm and stood there like a dog waiting to be told ‘good boy’ after delivering his bone. Robin blinked at the package as if it had alien origins, and grabbed it. “What is this?”

“Your present, of course. Happy birthday, Robin,” said Strike, the corners of his lips raising slightly as she finally looked at him, her eyes looking too tired once again, her inferior lip partially hidden as she bit one side softly, her skin too pale. Robin’s eyes finally widened in realization.

“My birthday,” Robin breathed out, looking back at the present. “Of course...”

“Well what are you waiting for? Open it!” Strike encouraged enthusiastic. Robin carefully undid the lace and the box opened, showing two tickets to see ‘Finding Neverland; The Musical’, which Strike knew Robin had been wanting to see but had complained the tickets were pretty expensive. “It’s not actually just from me, Nick and Ilsa also chimed in to pay it... we thought you could take Matthew and have a night out for yourselves.” Strike commented blushing. He had only wanted to see her excited again, truly excited, not that false pseudo-excitement that she tried to convey at times.

“Oh, Cormoran...” Robin smiled sadly, looking at the tickets. Perfect seats, near the scenario and in the centre. “You didn’t have to... thank you,” Robin looked at him with bright eyes. She had never known that he’d notice how much he had wanted to see it, and she had never thought the rough, grumpy giant would be the man to gift things like that to someone like her. Although then again, he had gifted her a beautiful green dress Matthew despised. She was sure he wouldn’t be happy about this either, which instantly made her feel like puking, but she gulped. “Will you pass on my gratitude to Nick and Ilsa too?”

Strike nodded awkwardly, suddenly shy.

“The play is tonight, at eight thirty in Picadilly,” said Strike pointing shyly at the tickets, which held the same information already. “You have dinner reservations for two at five-thirty at that place they opened there, the one you mentioned that looked good? I looked at the menu, it is good, I think you’ll like it. Reservation’s under your name, it’s all paid already so just go and eat whatever you want, have fun then go watch the play, alright?” Robin’s lips parted and her eyes widened.

“But Cormoran, how are you going to afford any of this? I’m not getting a pay rise because I know what we make...” Robin looked panicked. “You’re going to be in debt up to your eyeballs now!” Strike rolled eyes.

“I told you, Nick and Ilsa helped. They didn’t know what to gift you and they were eager to participate, and they do make money. I was more the brains of it, you could say... and Lucy, she’ll call you later, she was this close to planning a birthday dinner for you at her house, like she usually does with the family, but I told her it might be too weird, since you don’t really know each other much and all....” Strike’s ears turned scarlet. He didn’t like to admit he had needed such economical help and he didn’t like to think of his sister’s weirdness too much. “And I promise you a pay rise will be the first time happening the moment we can afford it. You’ve deserved it since the moment you first came.” Strike moved to prepare a mug of Yorkshire tea, the way Robin liked it, with a spoonful of honey, and while they waited for the kettle to be ready, Robin seemed at a loss of words. Strike turned around to see she was staring at the tickets with wet eyes and supposed she was really happy about the present. “So,” Strike started in a cheerful tone, “how was your birthday so far? Did you plan anything special?”

Robin snorted a laugh. Matthew and she had had such a heavy argument that night she had even forgotten it was her birthday. When she woke up in the morning Matthew was still asleep and, under the memory of the prior night, she had stormed out of the flat. She had thought marriage would make their usual fights subside, but they just kept going, only that now, Matthew would say things like ‘I am your husband, and you barely spend time with me anymore!’, ‘That’s no way of talking to your husband!’, or ‘You’re my wife, if I say I don’t like you spending so much time with _him_ for that ridiculous amount of _money_ , you should at least consider finding another job!’. However, Robin didn’t want for Strike to know how her relationship was crumbling. She didn’t want for him to feel guilty and her biggest fear was that he’d kick her out of the job, unable to deal with the guilt of being the topic of most of her fights with her husband. He had already talked with her once about the pain of having a job your partner hates you doing, and how he didn’t want that for her. But she wanted her job, more than anything.

“No,” said Robin, avoiding his glance so he could not look through her eyes, remembering that of ‘the eyes are the windows of the soul’. “He had some important work, he got promoted... anyway, he has meetings all day long.”

“Oh,” Strike nodded softly. _Fucking asshole would rather lick his bosses’ ass than give his incredible wife a good birthday_ , roared in his mind. “Then great, now you have nice plans with him, you should call him.” Strike moved to fill her mug and set it on her desk. Robin thanked him in a barely audible whisper and Strike moved aside. “I’m going to do surveillance on Lamp-Hair, alright? I’ll make sure to be back by lunch and maybe we can toast in your honour at the Tottenham then?” Robin looked up at him, surprised.

“Yeah, sure,” Strike grabbed his coat. “I’ll... I’ll get some research going on Cradley...”

“Anything you feel like,” said Strike putting on his coat. “Today’s your day, pick whatever you want. That said, if you go out don’t forget to cosy up okay? It looks rather cold, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, thanks...” Robin looked at him impressed by his sudden closeness to her. Although it wasn’t sudden. She had been noticing, for a while now, how slowly but steadily he treated her more like a friend than a work partner. He made her tea just like she had always done for him, he set the heater on in the outside office when he got there, even though he worked in the other one, sometimes he even bought her a sandwich, like she usually did for him. Robin had noticed he smiled at her every now and then, which he never did before, and a couple times he hadn’t said nothing as he removed some leaf or something that fell on Robin’s hair. Knowing she hated spiders he had once silently removed a little one from the top of her head and thrown it through the window and only then had he explained it was a spider, so she wouldn’t get scared. In response, she had tried to be more distant, keep their relationship strictly professional, rather in vane but with hopes that it would make Matthew relax or it would make the occasional desire she noticed of going _somewhere_ (she didn’t specify where in her mind) with Strike, vanish.

“Have a good day Robin, see you later,” Strike smiled a little big, and waved goodbye.

“Yeah, you too!” Robin managed to say, right before the door closed behind him. Robin then sighed and rolled on her chair, pinching the top of her nose bridge as a headache started to creep in. She took a sip of her tea, tasting exactly how she liked it, and hummed in appreciation as she debated what to tell Matthew. Still bitter from the previous night, and for the fact that he had made her forget her own birthday, she decided to just text him and grabbed her phone.

A handful of invitations from family and friends back in Masham made her suddenly homesick, and she quickly moved to text Matthew before she got a knot in her throat:

**‘Strike and his friends have worked on a group present for me, since today it’s my birthday. You and I now have dinner reservations at a nice restaurant, so pick me up at the office at five, they’re paying everything. They also bought tickets for us to see ‘Finding Neverland’ tonight after dinner, and you know how much I’ve been wanting to see it, so please just come and just for one night, don’t comment on my earnings, my boss, or all the ways in which I’m not good enough for you. For my birthday. Please, just one night of romance and peace.’**

Robin let a long breath out and her lip quivered, so she just got up and got ready to go out on surveillance. In the meantime, Strike was walking down the street with his sister on the phone.

“Yes, see you later. Bye,” Strike hung up and quickly dialled Ilsa. “Ilsa, lunch at the Tottenham at twelve for Robin’s birthday, alright? Bring Nick, I already called Luce... yes, she loved it but she’s rather... well, you’ll see. She’s not herself and I think it’s because of Matthew. She says he’s working all day and make-up can no longer hide the bags under her eyes, they were probably fighting all night, she seemed to have forgotten her own birthday and she says they don’t have plans today. Yes, dickhead, I know. See you...”

 

 


	2. The Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beer, alcohol, confessions... and Charlotte

Strike looked nervously at his watch. He had gotten a good table at the Tottenham, Nick and Ilsa were there, Lucy was there –Greg ate at work- and Robin should’ve been there ten minutes ago, at least. Strike wondered where she had gone, she wasn’t in the office.

“Call her,” Lucy encouraged. “She might’ve gotten in trouble...” Strike let a long sigh out and dialled her number.

“Cormoran, what’s up?” Robin’s voice answered.

“What’s up? The Tottenham at twelve, remember? Are you okay Robin, is there any issue?” Strike asked with a concerned tone.

“Oh, _bugger_!” Strike almost smiled at that. He adored when she said that. “I’m sorry Cormoran, I’m almost there, just ask me a beer okay? I hadn’t realized I was running late...”

“Alright, hey it’s fine, take your time. See you soon!” he hung up. “Ah, her mind’s somewhere else these days... I’ll get her a beer, she’s almost here she says.”

Strike was just placing Robin’s beer on the table, in front of the empty seat between himself and Lucy, when he saw Robin’s flame-like hair rushing into the pub. He waved so she’ll see them and a moment later Robin was there, her eyes widening at their company.

“Happy birthday!” Lucy cheerfully hugged Robin, who hugged back in shock.

“Woah, thanks, I had no idea...” Robin started, speechless.

“Happy birthday!” Ilsa and Nick added. Robin smiled, and sat down.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Robin excused, throwing her coat on the back of her chair and looking at her beer with appetite. She was touched by the encounter, and looked at Strike. “Is this also all expenses paid?” she added jokingly with a sincere chuckle.

“That beer yes, the rest I’m sorry but I have to pay the rent tomorrow,” Strike chuckled, pushing her beer closer to her. “Come on, get drunk.” Robin giggled taking a sip, happily licking her lips.

“Can’t believe you’re all here just for my birthday...” Robin murmured blushing as she set the jar-glass back on the table.

“That’s what friends do, silly,” Ilsa chuckled at her and Robin blushed harder. So now they were friends. That was... heart-warming.

“Thanks for all the presents, by the way, it was... quite incredible,” Robin smiled “How’s Greg and the boys?” Robin asked Lucy, suddenly remembering them.

“They’re fine, working and schooling, you know,” Lucy smiled kindly at her. It was curious how Lucy was in some ways a complete opposite. While Strike was serious and grumpy, Lucy and Robin had been laughing already in their first meeting, and she was cheerful and smiley. “How was work, where you somewhere exciting?”

“Oh, no,” Robin shrugged and looked at Strike, who nodded. She could talk there, at least of the shabby cases they currently had. “We have this client, Cradley, who thinks his seventeen-year-old daughter is snogging one of his employees, a guy in his twenties. I just pretty much caught her doing so.” She added the last part looking at Strike while drinking a long sip of her beer. Lucy raised her eyebrows with an amused chuckle and Nick laughed.

“At least she’s just snogging him!” Nick commented amused. Robin snorted a laugh.

“I think I left right before they fucked in the car, actually,” Robin commented, making them laugh. “I don’t think we should tell Cradley though.” She added looking at Strike, who was just leaving his beer back on the table after taking a sip with an amused half smile.

“Why?” asked Strike.

“Well, because he’ll fire his employee and punish his daughter God knows how severely, and he doesn’t have a right to do so. His daughter is old enough to make her own choices, she’s not breaking the law, she’s barely a minor and spying on her is invasive of her privacy and a bad thing to do in the first place,” Robin shrugged, reasoning logically. Strike nodded slowly. “I think we should let the daughter know what’s going on so she can be more discreet and tell the father we have yet to see anything suspicious. We’re going to be paid the same, and besides, if we tell him that we’ll keep being paid, while if we go today and tell him she is snogging him, he’ll finish the contract.”

“Agreed,” Strike nodded. “If we manage to keep him one month more you might be getting your pay rise sooner than expected, or at least a Christmas plus.” Robin snorted a laugh. She already felt in a much better mood than she had started the day.

“So is it your first birthday here?” asked Nick. “From here to dinner we have hours to get you somewhere fun if you want.”

“Nah, you’ve done enough but thank you,” Robin smiled truthfully grateful. “And no, my second. I moved here a year and a half ago, more or less. Last year Matthew took me to that floating restaurant in the Thames.”

“Oh that’s expensive,” Ilsa whistled. Strike choked in his drink and coughed, and Robin palmed his back with a side smile.

“Slow down there, tiger,” Robin joked.

“I proposed to Charlotte in that freaking expensive restaurant,” Strike confessed. Nick laughed.

“You can’t afford that,” Nick said, not taking him seriously.

“Which is precisely why I never bought her a drink,” Strike rolled eyes. “But it’s a nice place, really.”

“Charlotte...” Robin was thoughtful for a moment and then she hit the table in realization. “The day I arrived into your office, that was the girl that was just leaving, wasn’t she?” she asked excitedly. She had realised Strike seemed to have his guard down as long as there was beer and Nick and Ilsa were there, and she was willing to take advantage. Strike nodded grimly. “Oh mate, she left you quite the eyebrow.” Robin downed the rest of her pint in one sitting and raised a finger for two more, seeing Strike’s was also empty.

“Is self-service, Robin,” Strike rolled eyes and got up, patting her shoulder before going for more beer for everyone.

“That’s a pity,” Robin murmured already feeling a bit drunk.

“Charlotte’s a bitch,” Nick informed Robin before Strike had the opportunity to listen, feeling that Robin needed to catch up. “Used him like a toy.” Robin frowned.

“So that’s why she called to the office when she got engaged to Jago Ross,” Robin murmured, suddenly feeling pissed off. How did she dare? Hurt her friend? Well she was also thinking drunkenly, and remembering her own bad time with Matthew when she found out about the cheating and how Strike had cared for her. He was a sweet guy inside who deserved to be treated nicely. “Bitch just wanted to rub it in his face!”

“Yeah, that’s Charlotte,” Lucy sighed. Strike came back with the beer.

“Control yourself with that, okay lightweight?” Strike smiled at Robin, amused, as he gave her beer. “I don’t want Matthew to come tomorrow making a scene because you were drunk the entire dinner.”

“Matthew can suck it,” Robin dragged the words after another swing of her beer. “It’s my birthday, and he forgot it, so I get to do the hell I want.” Strike raised his eyebrows.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Strike asked leaning towards her as he sat down.

“Why do you let people treat you like shit?” Robin asked suddenly, after another swing of her beer, feeling too brave. Strike raised his eyebrows, surprised and taken aback. “Y’ let people mess with yah leg and your hair ‘nd your ‘xtra pounds or your econ’my just like that, when y’u could e’sly punch ‘hem, ‘nd you’re smarter than most people, and then,” Robin took another sip, “that girl c’mes, and you drool ‘fter her, and let her treat you the f’ck she wants!”

“You’re a little bit drunk, aren’t you?” Strike commented calmly, grabbing her beer, but Robin frowned at him and grabbed her glass fiercely, so he pulled his hand back.

“Not enough to not notice you’re avoiding my question!” Robin blurted. Lucy snorted a laugh, patting her hand to relax on her beer. Lucy hadn’t even finished her first glass yet. Robin looked into her glass. “This beer is f’king good, is it Cornish? Is it the one you like?” Robin looked at Strike with wide eyes.

“It is,” Strike nodded with a gentle smile. “Doom’s Bar. And we accept the love we think we deserve, which is why you’re married to Matthew, aren’t you?” he said gently. That comment sobered Robin up slightly and her eyes widened as she assimilated his comment. It was the first time Strike publicly manifested his disapproval towards Matthew, but in a very dissimulated way. She nodded slowly.

“But I’ve been with Matthew for like, ten years...” Robin murmured looking at his glass.

“I was engaged to Charlotte. And I was with her for sixteen years, on-and-off.”

“Kairos moment,” Robin murmured suddenly.

“What?”

“Kairos moment,” Robin repeated. “You said, ‘the telling moment’, right? Like, the special moment. Y’know when mine was?”

“No,” Strike shrugged, feeling this was going far way deeper and drunker than he’d like it, and not wanting for Robin to feel embarrassed the next day, even less having in count they weren’t alone.

“It wasn’t much different than yours,” Robin said, sounding quite sober. “When I was in the hospital, and my family was f’king far away in Masham, and I had no one to call,” Robin shrugged. “So I called him. And he drove all the way from Bath to Cambridge.”

“You studied in Cambridge?” Strike asked surprised. Robin nodded, not giving it much importance. “That’s pretty cool Robin...” he tried to change topic before she said something she regretted.

“He was all I had...” Robin murmured. “He’s always been...”

“Well now,” Ilsa chimed in softly. “He’s not all you have. You’ve got us, don’t you?” Robin beamed.

“I do?” Robin took another sip of her drink. “I do...” Strike snorted a laugh.

“God what do you drink in Masham, water with gas? You’re seriously getting drunk in two pints.”

“Cornish pints, Cormoran,” Robin chastised him. “This isn’t just any pint.” Strike laughed.

“You know what? There you’re right.” He nodded, amused.

“This is good,” Robin looked at her beer appreciative. “Thank you guys, I like this birthday. I do.”

“We’re glad,” Ilsa laughed. “You sure you’re good? You have to show up in one piece tonight.” Robin shrugged.

“My nose still looks better than his,” Robin chuckled pointing at Strike, blushed, and they all laughed.

“I’ll let that pass because you’re drunk,” Strike commented. “But my nose is freaking stylish. Roman, you see?” they laughed harder.

“So what’s a doctor and a lawyer doing not working at this hour?” Robin commented after a while.

“Robin, it’s Sunday,” Nick laughed. “We rest too.” Robin frowned.

“Sunday?” Robin asked. “But my husband says he has meetings all day.” Suddenly she felt like throwing up and she grabbed her phone. Since she worked on Sundays normally, she hadn’t stopped to consider the day it was. To her it was just any other day. “Is he sleeping with fucking Sarah Shadlock again?” Robin asked with her heart beating hard in her chest. Strike took her phone from her.

“Calm down Robin. He got a promotion,” Strike reminded her. “He’s probably truly working. Some people do, like this pub and the restaurant you’re going to tonight and the theatre.”

“If he’s fucking sleeping with her...” Robin threatened with teary eyes, reaching in vain to grab her phone.

“Why don’t you stop for a minute and think, uh?” Strike put a hand on her to keep it away from the phone he was holding with his other hand. “Does he work on Sundays?” Robin closed her eyes for a minute to think. Her brain was foggy with alcohol. Matthew had been promoted just last Monday, and he had said something... what had it been... ‘the only flaw of this is that I work on Sundays and I’ll miss your birthday, but hey, I’ve got Friday and Saturday free, we can do something fun then?’ That’s why they had fought the day before, he had been home, expecting for her to be home too with him, and he had been working.

“Of course,” Robin face-palmed and breathed down. “Of course, he works on Sundays now. Of course.” Strike returned the phone. “I’m sorry. He just got promoted this Monday,” she informed the table. “I don’t have his schedule memorized yet...”

“Calm down girl, I’m sure he’s thinking of you dying to see you after work,” Nick smiled warmly at her. “He probably got you flowers or something!”

“Yeah...” Robin smiled blushing. “He’s good at gifts. He always plans something big and sweet, proposed to me right in Picadilly, on one knee. Best night ever... How did you propose Nick?” Nick laughed loudly.

“Ilsa proposed,” Nick looked lovingly at his wife, who snorted.

“Well someone had to do something and you weren’t doing it, so...” Robin looked amused at them hearing the story and Strike, who had heard the story a few times, zooned out, looking at Robin attentively.

Robin looked, for the first time in weeks, relaxed, happy, calm. She didn’t finish her second beer, caught up in stories of Ilsa, Nick and Lucy’s lives, that flowed as Robin asked things, moved by her natural curiosity. Strike found himself caught up in her fascinated, and for a moment, a wave of rage grew in him towards Matthew. The asshole who had inspired in Robin fear of being cheated on again every time something was odd about him. And Robin laughed so hard the bags under her eyes seemed to dissolve, and Strike watched, transfixed, as he finished his drink. For the first time, they were behaving like old friends, all professionalism moved. And Robin was making jokes about him, friendly touching his arm or knee, in ways that she probably wouldn’t have done without those two big pints, since he had seen how she had tried to distance from him.

Strike’s eyes travelled momentarily from Robin to the bar, that was full of people, and then his stomach flew to his throat and he lost the colour in the face. Charlotte had just walked in together with a girl he did not know, looking gorgeous and laughing about something.


	3. You deserve good things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlotte strikes again and Robin defends Strike's honour and heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continuous support guys!

Robin stopped laughing as she sensed something and looked at Strike, seeing his eyes fixed somewhere behind her, and how he was pale.

“Everything alright Stick?” Lucy asked, and then she turned. “Oh, fuck!”

“Charlotte...” Ilsa muttered. Robin turned around and saw Charlotte, who had fixed eyes on them, but seemed to ignore them.

“It’s alright,” Strike cleared his throat and got his chair closer to the table, focusing on the meal he had forgotten about and eating a bite of his meat, calmly. He was a soldier, he could relax. “It’s Robin’s birthday, we don’t have to give Charlotte a look. That’s what she wants, attention. She knows I come here often.”

“Well said,” Robin nodded. Seeing Charlotte had finished sobering her up. She suddenly felt an alien hate towards the woman, her posh clothes, snobby attitude, her air of superiority and the way she treated Strike, for whom, after so long by his side and the way he had behaved towards her now with her birthday despite the coldness and distance she had been giving him for days, the way he had smiled like a child all excited when he gave her, her present, after all he had done for her and how he had always treated her, she felt as if he was one of her brothers.

While she was deep in thought, Charlotte had made her way to them.

“Hi, Bluey,” Charlotte said coldly smiling at him, standing behind Robin and ignoring the others. Robin saw Lucy clench her teeth and Ilsa and Nick fix angry eyes on Charlotte. Strike clenched his teeth for a moment and looked up.

“Hi.” He said dryly. Charlotte snorted.

“That’s it? Aren’t you going to congratulate me or something?”

“Excuse me Corm, let me take care of this,” Robin squeezed Strike’s elbow softly and pushed her chair back, making Charlotte slump back, before standing up and smiling warmly at Charlotte, who looked at her offended. “Hi, I’m Robin, remember me? You told me to tell him you were getting married.”

“Oh,” Charlotte straightened in superiority. “No, sorry.”

“Well don’t worry, you will remember me after this,” Robin said. The friend behind Charlotte raised her eyebrows looking at Robin with inferiority and Robin straightened, crossing her arms over her chest and looking serious at Charlotte. Ilsa, Nick, Lucy and Strike looked expectantly at her. “This is the last time you even look at Cormoran, understood? If I see you try to contact him, his people, or even look at them again, I will make sure you regret it.” Robin wasn’t used to threatening. In school she had always been quiet, but with her brothers she got used to finally punching, because Stephen told her how everyone would always take her as a little soft thing they could treat however they wanted if she never bit, so she started biting back. But not threatening. In fact, this was a first, and she didn’t know where her bravery came from, seeing as Charlotte was not only taller, but prettier and wore such high heels she looked at least half a head taller than her, looking down at her with despise. Charlotte’s seriousness broke with her threat and she laughed in her face.

“Bluey, is this a joke?” Charlotte asked.

“Don’t you fucking call him _that_ again,” Robin snapped between clenched teeth. Strike would’ve said something, but his jaw had slightly dropped and his eyes were fixed on Robin.

“Dear, why don’t you mess with someone who can actually feel... scared? By you,” Charlotte commented looking at her depreciatingly. “If there is someone, that is. Let me give you a piece of advice, because you’re obviously a kid and I’m going to take pity on you, don’t meddle in things that aren’t your business, alright? And don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.” Robin smiled.

“I’m twenty-seven, but thanks, I do conserve pretty well not like...” Robin looked at her up and down. “Well... you do try very hard to seem young though.” She heard Nick laugh under his breath and Charlotte’s expression hardened. Strike, who didn’t think Charlotte looked old, couldn’t help but openly laugh, which only pissed Charlotte more. Robin snorted a laugh, satisfied, at her face.

“Come on, Char,” Charlotte’s friend said grabbing her arm.

“No...” Charlotte freed herself from her arm and gave a step forward to Robin. “You know at least I can afford some dignity, you look like you took your clothes from the dumpster.” That cracked a smile in Robin’s face, although Strike got tense, and suddenly Robin giggled, for Charlotte’s bewilderment. The comment wasn’t justified, since Robin wore a pretty blouse, an elegant skirt, heels, and her sapphire ring by her wedding band.

“They did come cheap, yes,” Robin nodded. “See when you don’t need to spend hundreds on expensive clothes, make-up or products to try and seem younger, you can actually save it. I don’t need to spend every penny I’ve got to feel happy in my own skin. I mean, I got a first-hand husband, not like you, right? Shows I don’t need to make your hard effort.” Colour drained Charlotte’s skin.

“Cormoran, why don’t you tell your friend to behave before she gets what she deserves?” Charlotte said coldly, her eyes fixed on Robin.

“Actually, Corm sais I deserve a pay rise so it would be wonderful if you’d give me that,” Robin shrugged. “Or well... maybe you should keep it for those expensive products so your husband keeps you around a bit longer.”

“You fucking bitch,” Charlotte clenched her fists. “If only I hadn’t been raised with better modals than you, I might get into your silly arguments, but I’ve got more class. Let’s go...” she turned around.

“Class, you?” Robin snorted a laugh. “Excuse me, but you’re famous for being Corm’s crazy ex, who throws ashtrays and completely loses it. A mad-woman,” Robin said bitterly, her tongue feeling more malicious than ever. Charlotte stopped dry and turned to look at her with a cold smile.

“Do you really think,” Charlotte started. “That a drunk peasant is going to make _me_ seem inferior? I’m Charlotte _Ross_ , darling. I clean my floor with people like you. The world is going to eat you alive while I drink tea in my family’s castle.”

“At least all I have comes from my own merits. That castle is your husband’s family.” Robin shrugged calmly. She felt like a winner.

“Well,” Charlotte shrugged, chuckling. “My merits got me to marry the son of the Viscount of Croy, your merits got you to drink cheap beer in a pub, if we’re going to compare.” Robin nodded slowly.

“Look, I don’t care what you have to say against me,” said Robin calmly. “At the end of the day, I go home to a loving husband, enjoy the job of my dreams, and get to call this guy,” she nodded at Strike, “my best friend. I don’t need some castle, I’ve got all I want. But if you go anywhere near him again, you and I are going to have problems far bigger than a youth competition.”

“Oh please, you’re ridiculous! You’re embarrassing yourself, girl,” Charlotte laughed. “Let me clear things out for you, because you must be retarded. I decide the hell I do, and I don’t give a shit what you say, your words and empty threats mean nothing to me. I have the power to ruin your life, not the other way around. And for what I’ve seen here, what am I going to fear, you messing with my age?” Charlotte looked incredulous. “As if I would care what you have to say... but try going against me and sweetie, I’ll make you bleed.”

Robin pursed her lips thoughtfully and gave a step forward.

“Did you read about Donald Laing?” Robin commented. “I’m the girl that broke his nose and he was a serial killer so, what makes you think I’m going to fear you?”

“Whatever, sweetheart,” Charlotte ignored her and walked towards Strike, who sat looking stern. “I thought you couldn’t fall lower than being the son of a druggie who killed herself and getting disgustingly fat while sleeping in your office, but damn, you’ve surprised me Bluey.” Strike fixed his eyes on her full of malice and got up. Charlotte laughed. “You can’t even defend your whore of a mother. If you think about it, Whittaker made a cleaning service killing her.” Lucy stood up but before she could move to reach Charlotte, Robin had pulled her back from the back of her expensive jacket, and punched her right across the face.

Charlotte’s friend gasped, Charlotte spun and fell on her knees from the strength of Robin’s punch, that had bruised Robin’s fist, but the pub had so much noise no one else seemed to notice.

“Don’t you fucking dare say a word against Leda Strike,” Robin said boiling in anger, snapping at the woman.

“Robin,” Strike put a soothing hand on Robin’s arm. “Robin, please, calm down. She’s not worth it.”

“This bitch has needed for someone to set things straight to her for a long time, Cormoran,” Robin said frowning at Strike and looking back at Charlotte, who got up. Her lip was split and bleeding, and she shot Robin the most hateful look before throwing a punch to her face, that Robin intercepted, grabbing it with one hand and punching her in the stomach, making her bend with a grunt.

“Leave her!” Charlotte’s friend came with anger and Strike, Lucy, Nick and Ilsa stood threateningly, so she stepped back and grabbed Charlotte. “Let’s go...”

“I warned you, Charlotte,” Robin snapped sternly. “I fucking warned you.” Charlotte went to attack her again but her friend grabbed her with both arms, strongly.

“Charlotte, stop! Don’t fall to their level!”

“You bitch!” Charlotte spit at Robin, but the spit didn’t reach her. “Girls like you are the ones men cheat on with women like me, you know?” Robin’s face got rigid and Charlotte chuckled, knowing she had touched a nerve. “He has, hasn’t he?” Charlotte managed to set free from her friends’ hold and walked towards Robin, but Strike gave one step forward, looking sternly at Charlotte. He opened his mouth to talk but Robin grabbed his arm and when he looked at her, she shook her head.

“You don’t have to lose your time with her anymore, Cormoran. It’s over,” Robin whispered. Strike looked at her, moved, and Robin looked back at Charlotte. “Why don’t you pick up your dignity from the floor and leave before I improve your face?” Charlotte laughed.

“My dignity is perfectly placed thanks,” Charlotte snapped. “But tell me, what dignity does woman have when her husband sleeps with other women and she lets it happen?” Charlotte smirked.

“The dignity of having more real friends than you, who will break your nose if you say one more word against her,” Lucy snapped finally. Strike looked at her, surprised.

“Yeah, Charlotte,” Nick intervened. “Leave before you ridicule yourself further.”

“And Charlotte,” Ilsa stepped forward, putting an arm around Lucy comfortingly and burning Charlotte with her eyes. “Next time you want to try look better than Robin, maybe you should remember you’re the whore everyone in Oxford slept with and then talked about how nuts you were and how you’re only useful for a good fuck.” Charlotte looked at Ilsa full of rage.

“At least I can get pregnant, right Ilsa?” Ilsa paled.

“At least she’s a real woman, not a mere fuck toy,” Nick clenched his jaw looking at Charlotte.

“Just leave, Charlotte,” Strike finally said. “You and I are more than over. You’re a toxic poison who ruins everything she touches and you aren’t worth a penny. If I had been more awake in Oxford, I wouldn’t have gone after you to begin with, and believe me, I’ve never been happier than I am without you,” Charlotte looked sternly at him. Strike breathed in deeply and stepped forward. “And for all we know, there isn’t a proof that you’re better at carrying children than Ilsa, right Charlotte?” Charlotte paled.

“It was yours, believe it or not.” Charlotte grumbled.

“Stop it, Charlotte,” Strike said in a low, sad voice. “No one’s coming to your rescue anymore. This time, I decide. This time, I settle we’re over. For good. No more of your craziness, of your lies, of your dramas... I’m free. And if you think I’m ever giving that up for someone like you, you’re very wrong. You can insult all these people all you want, but you’ll never get me back, all you’re doing is reaffirm my decision. You had something good, and you ruined it, like you ruin everything you touch. And my mother might’ve been many things, and gotten in the worst companies, but she loved me more than you can even attempt to feel, and that’s a love I’m sad you’ll never have.” Charlotte gave him one last hateful look and left.

The moment Charlotte left, Robin turned to look at Strike, who looked crestfallen, and grabbed his chin softly, directing his face to look at her. Their eyes locked and hers were serious and full of fire, while his were sad eyes.

“Next time you feel attracted to someone, you let me decide if she’s worth it, alright?” Robin said full of the adrenaline of the moment. Strike’s eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded. “And well done.” That said, Robin hugged him for the first time ever, wrapping her arms tightly around him and putting her face on his shoulder. He froze, surprised, and looking at Ilsa, she gestured to him impatiently and he put his arms around Robin, hiding his face on her hair and sinking in her perfume. He didn’t remember the last time he was hugged like that and it felt so good he didn’t want to pull back. “You’re a good man, Cormoran, and you deserve good things.” Robin whispered against his ear. He nodded awkwardly.

“You deserve them too.” Strike said sincerely.


	4. The revelation of the abuser

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get tricky at the Cunliffe's household

Strike woke up with a groan and a pounding headache. The encounter with Charlotte had moved him to drink himself to sleep and now he looked at his attic flat as if it had hit his head. Robin had probably had sex with Matthew, which didn’t improve his mood. If before he sapphire ring had stopped him from making a move, after the events of the prior day only a band like the golden one in her finger could be capable of keeping him at bay. But Matthew didn’t deserve her. His phone vibrated with a text and he took it lazily, his heart beating faster as he saw it was Robin’s.

**‘I hate to even ask you this, but Matthew took a sick day today at work so he could compensate me for my birthday. Is it okay if I take the day off? Rx.’**

An unreasonable sadness found home in Strike’s stomach and he let a long sigh out before texting back.

**‘Of course it is, have a nice day.’**

A voice in his head said it was absolutely not okay, that he wanted to see Robin, and how did Matthew dare? But maybe the night had helped the couple reinforce their relationship and fix their problems, and Strike couldn’t bring himself to break them apart.

**‘Thanks, you too! Rx.’**

With another grunt, Strike moved to sit on the bed, stretching to grab is prosthesis and put it on, before walking to the bathroom. After a shower and a good shave, he ate some cookies and descended down the stairs to his office, opening the door while giving Robin’s desk a glance as if it had inflicted physical pain on him and walking to his office.

A few hours later, Mr. Cradley came after Strike had called him. He was a big, blonde man, who owned a company of printers.

“I’m sorry Mr. Cradley,” Strike decided to do as Robin had suggested and had located Cradley’s daughter in a quick trip before summoning her dad into the office to let her know what was going on. “We haven’t found anything suspicious yet. My partner is right now outside to watch your employee and see if he makes a move on your daughter, but so far they don’t seem to be in touch.”

“Oh,” the man scratched his head with a frown, sipping on the tea Strike had offered. “Maybe she suspects something...”

“Maybe. If there’s anything we’ll find out, I promise.” Strike stood by the man, who sat on the sofa.

“Alright,” Mr. Cradley nodded, finishing his tea in one sip and standing up. “Thanks, Mr. Strike, good job. Let me know if you find out anything.” Strike nodded. Mr. Cradley was probably the most polite and respectful client he had ever had and he would’ve felt bad lying to him if it wasn’t because he was still being disrespectful to his daughter.

It was as he walked Mr. Cradley out of the office that his mobile rang and he quickly grabbed it from his pocket, frowning as he saw it was Robin. He answered her call.

“Robin w...?” his sentence died as he heard distant noise. A woman’s scream, then a noise of furniture falling, Matthew yelling things he couldn’t quite understand. “Robin?!” Strike felt his heat beating hard. “I’m coming Robin, hang in there!”

Strike ran downstairs, cutting the call so he could focus on getting there, and stopped a taxi that almost ran him over, and got inside, shouting Robin’s address.

“There’s a case of domestic violence going on so hit the pedal!” Strike shouted. The driver, nervous, did so, and under Strike’s pressure, jumped some red lights. Strike felt like calling the police, but decided to wait in case he had misunderstood the situation, he didn’t want to cause Robin more problems.

Strike finally threw some pounds to the driver and flew off the car running to Robin’s door. He pressed his ear to the door. He could hear yelling.

“It’s Strike, open the door!” Strike roared, already pulling out his tools to manipulate the locker. While he was on it, trying for Robin’s screams to not make him hurry so much he became sloppy, the door of the neighbour next door opened and a guy came out agitated.

“What’s going on in there?” he asked. Strike gave him a look.

“I’m a Private Detective, I’m going to find out, call the police and an ambulance, will you?” the guy nodded and Strike finally got the door opened and despite the ache of his leg, he ran inside, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He couldn’t hear Robin anymore.

“...fucking, bitch, look what you made me do!” Strike heard Matthew. He distinguished Matthew’s shape near the doorframe of their bedroom and grabbed Matthew from behind with such strength Matthew’s feet separated from the floor, before throwing the guy against a wall.

“DO NOT TOUCH HER!” Strike roared seeing red with anger, and punched Matthew so hard he thought he heard his jaw break, and Matthew fell to the ground with a thud and a pained yelp. Strike was going to continue hitting him, but he thought he heard a groan full of pain and he rushed in the bedroom instead. If Matthew had only been wearing his boxers, the bedroom offered an explanation.

The sheets were all over the place, a bookshelf had fallen to the ground, and entangled in sheets appeared Robin, crawling on the floor while panting as if she couldn’t breathe, in an agonic way. Strike rushed to her side.

“Robin, I’m here, let me see you...” Strike carefully rolled Robin to be face up, and Robin’s asphyxiating noises along with the sight of her face froze him.

The redheaded laid semi-unconscious, her body haphazardly wrapped in a bed sheet, barely covering her nudity, her hair loose and dishevelled. Her eyes were shut close, one of them purple, along with the swollen left side of her forehead, temple and eye. Her lip was split and swollen, and her arms hugged herself. In a desperate attempt to breathe, her body arched towards the ceiling, but only rasp noises came out. Strike couldn’t see what was making her breathing hard, so he looked into her mouth, making sure she wasn’t asphyxiating on her tongue, and then fixed his eyes on the arms hugging herself.

“Let me examine you Robin,” Strike said very softly, as if to asking for permission to see her nakedness. “I’m just trying to help...” he carefully put her arms to the sides, noticing how a reddened mark of a hand was still printed on her forearm over the scar Laing had done, and carefully retired part of the sheets, revealing a breast to which he didn’t pay attention, and underneath sure enough there was bruising along her ribs, and the skin seemed to sink as if the ribs gave in. Strike cursed under his breath. If the ribs were broken, as it seemed, they could’ve punctured her lung, which explained why she struggled to breathe, not to mention the incredible pain she probably was in. “I think your lung is punctured so let’s try to sit you up, maybe that helps.”

Strike grunted as he sat on his ass, separated his knees and carefully, putting his hands under Robin’s armpits, pulled her into his arms, using his chest like the back of a chair to sit her up, her head thrown back against his chest as she coughed hard and gasped. He kept a hand cupping her jaw and another trying to keep the sheet around her well enough to protect what was left of her privacy. Looking down, he saw Robin had coughed blood against his shirt. He heard sirens in the distance and rushing steps, and the same guy he had seen before appeared at the doorstep.

“Mrs. Cunliffe!” the guy’s eyes widened at the sight. “Is she alright?”

“Does she look alright?” Strike grunted. He observed blood was pouring through a side on Robin’s head and looked at the lump in the corridor’s floor formed by Matthew with angry eyes. “Hang in there Robin, you’re going to be okay, just hold on...” the woman kept gasping for air. Even though she had one functioning lung, the pain she was in must’ve been so unbearable that it made her struggle more, and every breath came with the cracked rib scratching her lung further and putting her in more pain. “You go outside, make sure the ambulance hurries up in here!”

When the ambulance finally came, they put oxygen on Robin and sedatives, and put her wrapped up with hospital blankets into a stretcher. Other paramedics looked at Matthew, and Strike explained to the police what he knew, after finding Robin’s phone on the floor. That Robin had called him on purpose or by accident, that he had heard the commotion and rushed there but didn’t call the police because he wasn’t sure of what he heard, and that only when he got to the door did he recognize a fight and the police was called, and that he had caught Matthew yelling at Robin and hitting her. He told them all he knew about Matthew, that he was jealous, that they fought a lot, that he accused Robin of not making money enough and of desiring other men –didn’t specify it was him Matthew was specifically mad about- and that it wasn’t true that she did that, and that Matthew treated her like an object.

Then Strike got in the ambulance with Robin and, as she was wheeled to the theatre in a rush, he flopped on a chair, shocked. What had made Matthew, the guy who wouldn’t dirty his hands, hit her like that? He could’ve killed her and, for all Strike knew, that possibility could still happen, and he had seemed truly angry. Strike had gotten a better look of Matthew as he was handcuffed into a separate ambulance and the guy had, aside from a broken jaw that Strike had caused, a broken nose that must’ve been Robin’s job, of which Strike was happy and proud, and some scratching and bruising across his body. Robin had defended hard but he had probably caught her in bed, maybe sleeping, taken by surprise. It only intrigued Strike further. It was the vibrating of his phone from a client asking why wasn’t he in the office which reminded him there was people to call, not Matthew, but Robin’s parents, which he had gotten to know at the wedding, and maybe, Lucy and the Herberts.

Strike dreaded calling Robin’s family. What was he going to say? That Robin was in the theatre with her chest open and a bad head wound and that she might never wake up? Strike couldn’t fathom how she was going to survive that, she could hardly breathe and that without mentioning her tremendous, bleeding head trauma. He was scared shitless, how was he going to dissimulate his trembling voice? He decided that, knowing how it would take hours for the Ellacotts to arrive, he would pretend to know less than he knew and avoid giving details that would make them more anxious. Fear wouldn’t get them faster but it could get them into a car accident. He opened Robin’s phone and realized he didn’t know the password. It was a numeric code, and he wondered what it could be. Then he remembered Robin talking about her kairos moment, but he couldn’t remember which day it had been.

“She had just gotten engaged the night I broke up with Charlotte...” Strike murmured with a frown. The day finally came to him and it worked, the phone unblocked and he went through the contacts list, quickly finding ‘AA Dad’. He pressed the button and waited.

“Hi sweetheart!” came Michael Ellacott’s cheerful voice.

“Michael Ellacott? It’s Cormoran Strike,” Strike’s voice was hoarse.

“Oh, hi Cormoran, yes it’s me. Why are you calling through Robin’s phone, is everything alright?”

“I don’t know much,” lied Strike. “But you need to come, right now. Robin’s in the hospital. Matthew hit her.”

“What?” Michael was scandalized. “Matthew what?”

“Matthew has beaten Robin up,” Strike said clearly. “And you need to come. The Royal London hospital.”

“We’re on our way, will you...?”

“I won’t leave her side, don’t worry. And please, drive safe, will you?” Strike didn’t want for more misfortunes to happen to the same family.

“Cormoran, did you see her?” Michael asked anxiously. “Is she...?”

“She has some bruises, they’ve taken her for further examination,” Strike half lied. “I can’t tell you more. Just come, alright? I’ll be here. If you need anything call her number, I’ve got her phone.”

After the call ended, Strike looked around, feeling a knot in his throat. His fist ached, as he had hit Matthew so hard, and his hands were shaking. What if she didn’t...? but he couldn’t think that. Strike decided the surgery could take hours and he needed to keep moving. Since Nick worked in that same hospital, he decided to go fetch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be back on Monday, as I'm on vacation and leaving the city for a few days!


	5. Intensive Care Unit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Ellacotts arrive

Four and a half hours later, Strike sat in the Intensive Care Unit along with Nick, beside Robin’s bed. It was past lunch time and the younger woman had been propped a bit up in bed to improve her breathing, with blankets up to her neck and tubes going into her mouth to help her breathe. The machines indicated her steady heartbeat and a bandage surrounded her head.

“It could’ve been worse,” murmured Nick, consternated. “Her lung got punctured but it wasn’t so bad, and her brain didn’t bleed, so that’s good, the wound was only superficial. There wasn’t even a fracture, they said. Just the blow. And her eye is not so bad, they said it fractured the bone around it but that it was tiny and clean, easy and quick to repair.”

“I’m going to kill him, Nick,” Strike breathed out, a hand on Robin’s shoulder, delicately brushing her jaw with one finger. “If I see him again, I will kill him.” Nick squeezed his shoulder, not knowing what to say to comfort him.

They only got an hour with Robin before they were kicked out and, as they exited the ICU room into the corridor, they saw the entire Ellacott clan, along with a woman Strike recognised as Stephen’s soon-to-be-wife, rushing towards them accompanied by Lucy and Ilsa, who had finally made it there after work, and had been updated through constant texting by Nick for hours. They all had faces full of worry.

“Cormoran!” Linda looked anxiously at him as they stopped in front of each other. “What’s going on? Is that Robin’s blood?” Strike gulped, and hid the blood in his chest by closing his jacket.

“She’ll be okay, it looks worse than it actually is,” said Strike, deciding to relieve them first.

“Where’s that asshole?” asked Stephen angrily. “My brothers and I would like to have a word with him...”

“Arrested to a bed undergoing jaw and nose surgery in another hospital, don’t know which,” answered Strike. “Robin fought back and broke his nose and I broke his jaw. I didn’t tell you all I actually know before because it wasn’t going to make you come here any faster and I didn’t want for you to rush too much on the road and have an accident, but I can tell you now...”

“Yes, please,” Michael nodded. “What the hell happened, Cormoran?”

“I’m afraid only Matthew and Robin know the whole story for now and neither of them is in condition to speak now. All I know is that Robin asked me to have the day free to celebrate her birthday with Matthew properly, because yesterday he forgot or something and today he wanted to compensate her, or so he said,” explained Strike, “and then hours later I receive a phone-call from her and all I hear is noise, as if there was a fight going on, and then a yell I think was Matthew, but couldn’t understand a word, and then a yelp from, I believe, Robin, and a thud, noises of things falling. But I had no idea if they were at the house or not or if someone had attacked them or they were fighting, or anything, so I couldn’t call the police, didn’t even know where to send them. I decided to go to their flat just to check and if she wasn’t there I’d call my friends and look for her, and when I got there I pressed my ear to the door and heard fighting. I started playing with the lock to open the door and a neighbour caught me so I explained him the situation and told him to call 999, I got inside the house and was right in time to separate Matthew from her. He was hitting her and she was already on the floor,” he looked down, not wanting to see their anguished and angry faces. “So I punched him to keep him at bay and went to check on Robin and she was injured and mostly unconscious, couldn’t tell me anything, so I waited for the ambulance with her and have been with her ever since. My friend Nick can explain the medical stuff better.”

Nick explained them Robin’s injuries and the current situation and accompanied Robin’s parents to try for them to see their daughter even if the visiting hours were over. The rest of the group stood there in consternation. Lucy and Ilsa were still wearing their work suits and briefcases hanging from their shoulders, and Robin’s brothers looked like they had left all they were doing and ran to their cars.

“You all must be hungry and tired, why don’t we go to the cafeteria and sit down for a bit uh?” Lucy suggested looking at Strike and the Ellacotts, motherly as always.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea, you guys need to eat,” Stephen’s fiancée supported the idea and Stephen nodded absentmindedly letting her guide her after Lucy along the corridor. The rest followed and they got a table near the windows, dragging chairs. Lucy and Stephen’s fiancée, who introduced herself as Emma, took note of their drinks and went to the bar to get them along with Strike and Stephen, to help carry everything back to the table.

“Is that doctor,” Stephen asked as they sat back down. “Robin’s doctor? He looks smart.” Ilsa side smiled a little.

“He’s my husband, Nick. I’m Ilsa,” explained Ilsa. “He’s not, he’s a gastroenterologist, but we’re Cormoran’s best friends and, well, friends of Robin of course.”

“And I’m Lucy, Corm’s sister and Robin’s friend too,” Lucy added, removing her tea after putting in some sugar. Robin’s brothers nodded in acknowledgment.

“At least she finally made some friends, we didn’t like that all she had were asshole’s friends,” Martin commented taking a sip of his beer.

“Robin’s in the best hands. This is one of London’s best hospitals,” Lucy assured them. “And like my brother said, it looks worse than it is. Robin’s a strong g-woman.” She corrected herself. Strike nodded taking a long gulp of beer.

“And Matthew’s not getting away with this,” commented Ilsa. “I’m a lawyer and well, currently British law doesn’t make a distinction between a fight in a domestic environment or another kind, but in a trial, in front of a normal jury, people don’t like a bit to hear a man could’ve killed his wife, so that won’t go unnoticed.”

“How long?” asked Jonathan. “How long will he go to prison?” Ilsa shrugged.

“It depends of many things. What actually happened, if we can prove it efficiently, which judge it’s assigned... but so far we know there was physical abuse and psychological and emotional abuse, and if there was sexual abuse too, which given the fact that they were found naked, is a possibility, that would be aggravating,” explained Ilsa. Robin’s brothers stared at her attentively. “Not to mention if there was financial abuse, which would also make things worse for him. And then they’d have to consider whether this is a first time, or Matthew’s behaviour has been questionable before, and whether he has any dirt in his criminal record, even if it’s just a traffic fine. If he’s really clean and this is a one-time thing, and he’s an ideal husband for all else, which I highly doubt, he could go free with a restraining order and an economical compensation to Robin. But I think he could actually go to prison at least for a few years in this case. If I defend Robin, which even though I haven’t done domestic abuse cases in a while, I wouldn’t mind doing, I’ll ask for prison time for sure and push our luck.”

“He should go,” Martin nodded. “He was never good enough, never. Our law’s too soft.”

“His family has money for a good lawyer though,” Stephen commented. “Are you good Ilsa?” Ilsa raised her eyebrows.

“Under my own consideration? Yes,” Ilsa shrugged. “Haven’t lost a case in six years, I don’t plan on ruining my good streak now.” Stephen chuckled.

“Then my sister’s really in good hands,” Stephen concluded.

As they ate their lunch, Strike with the worst appetite he remembered having in years, Robin’s parents and Nick, who had finished his working hours, arrived.

“How is she mum?” Stephen asked moving to bring his parents chairs.

“Thank you sweetheart,” Linda sat with a small smile. “She looks bad, but she squeezed my hand for a moment so I think she’s feeling better.” Stephen nodded.

“I’ll get you something to eat,” Stephen got up with Emma to get his parents something and they were back shortly after.

“By the way, Cormoran,” Michael got fifty quid out of his wallet and offered them to Strike, who looked at them with a frown. “Take them, mate. You saved our girl’s life... I can’t offer you as much as you deserve, but at least take this. You’ve lost many work hours and also paid an expensive taxi just to be with her, right? As a compensation at least...” Strike shook his head and softly pushed Michael’s money away.

“I would do anything for Robin, but not for money. She’s one of my best friends and my colleague, and she deserves all the help she gets. She’s going to need a new flat so, she’s going to need that money more than myself. I don’t pay her what she deserves,” said Strike. Before Michael could argue, Strike’s phone rang and he stood up. “Excuse me, might be the police.” Michael nodded putting his money back into the pocket and Strike went outside already lighting on a cigarette while grabbing his phone.

“A curious type, your brother,” Michael commented, looking at Lucy, who snorted a laugh.

“My sons said the same,” Lucy joked, making Michael smile.

“Mate, what’ve you got?” Strike asked into his phone, walking in front of the restaurant’s windows. The hospital restaurant was in the ground floor and had direct access to both the street and the hospital.

A while later Strike went back to the table, his cigarette over and a serious expression in his face. He didn’t sit down.

“My mate Detective Inspector Richard Anstis from Scotland Yard told me Cunliffe’s nose has been fixed and his jaw stitched, so he can’t talk, but he can write, so he wrote he was protecting himself from Robin, who according to him, attacked first. His version obviously doesn’t sustain itself,” Strike informed. “So I’m going to pay him a little visit. He’s arrested in the hospital, but Anstis will let me in.”

“Can your friend let us in too?” Michael asked standing up. Strike let a long sigh out.

“Michael, my job is to make sure assholes like him pay, and yours right now is to be near your daughter for anything she needs, not to get into trouble hitting someone who isn’t worth your time. So let me do my job, and you stay with her, please.” Michael nodded and reluctantly sat down. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Strike left the hospital and took the bus to the hospital Matthew was in, on the other side of the city. He felt drained, and at the same time he was getting a thrill of adrenaline just by thinking on seeing the bastard. Strike found himself wishing to punch Matthew to death, and his hand clenched the bar of the bus so hard his knuckles got white. The idea that someone had hurt Robin so badly was painful, but even more was imagining Robin had been just sleeping, snuggled into the man she loves feeling at peace and happy, when suddenly she had woken up to punches.


	6. Lies and painful truths

Anstis met Strike at the door of the hospital and, after asking for Robin, offered to invite Strike to a beer before they saw Matthew, so he could explain him a more detailed version of what Matthew said that had happened.

“According to him, Robin and he were having sex,” Anstis started. “And while moaning, Robin said...” he looked at Strike with a circumstantial expression and Strike raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“She said your name,” Anstis said. Strike snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, right, and I’ve seen a unicorn this morning,” Strike rolled eyes. “What a way to lie...” Anstis sighed.

“I guess. Cunliffe said it pissed him off and he stopped and questioned what she had said, and that she reacted in passive aggressiveness and claimed if he could sleep with a Sarah Shadlock...”

“The woman he cheated on her with years ago, Robin found out shortly before their wedding, a few months ago,” Strike explained.

“Well that if he could do that, she could say whatever she wanted. Cunliffe says that’s how their argument started and that Robin lost her shit quickly, insulted him, that she hadn’t forgiven him for cheating despite she said she had, and that she reacted violently. Then Cunliffe claimed knowing Robin knew self-defence and was good at fighting, he got afraid and when she broke his nose, he fought back in self-defence. He says this is domestic violence, yes, but that he’s the victim.” Strike clenched his teeth and almost broke the glass of beer from the strength with which he grabbed it.

“It’s all lies. He was insulting her, and it’s not the first time he talks disrespectfully to Robin, he ruined her birthday...” Strike ranted angrily.

“I know, you already told me everything, but I have to be impartial, Bob. You know that. I’ll have to interrogate Robin, but I’m going to wait until she feels more up to it, and I already requested her doctors to send me a file with all they found on her, a forensic also saw her already to examine her bruises and wounds and figure how they happened and I’m waiting for a full report,” Strike nodded.

“Can I see that tosser now?” Anstis chuckled.

“Yes, but you can’t touch him.”

He accompanied him to visit Matthew Cunliffe, who lied in a bed, awake and with his hands handcuffed to the bed, his jaw stitched close. Strike grinned, seeing him all bored, pissed and incapable of doing anything, and Matthew looked at him angrily.

“Woah, Robin did a good job fixing your nose, didn’t she?” Strike pointed to Matthew’s nose, that was bandaged up. “That must hurt. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you a little something.” Anstis stood back and Strike came closer, resisting the urge to hit Matthew. “As long as you live, I’m going to keep an eye on you, get it? I won’t let you come any closer to her in the rest of your life, unless it’s for a trial, and if you even try I will make you bleed worse than that. You’re going to leave her alone, your marriage is over, I want you far from her and her people, really far, and if you don’t you will regret the day you met me. You don’t know what love is, you don’t deserve all she’s given you, and she’s too much of woman for a wanker like you, she deserves so much better than you and from now on, I’m going to stick to her like glue and make sure she knows a kind of happiness she hasn’t even dared to dream next to you. I will care for her. I will protect her. And I’m gonna warn you,” Strike added full of anger. “You can dare to lie and play the victim, but Robin has the best people by her side and we won’t let her down, we will make sure you pay for every threat, every lie, every moment of disrespect, disloyalty, lack of love, you’ve shown her, every beating, every scratch, every insult or hurtful comment to her... you will pay. The least you owe her is the truth, so your choice. Go down with lies or with the truth, but I swear to you I won’t stop until you pay, and no lie is going to shield you from me. Nothing you do or say will stop me from finding the truth and putting you in your place. You don’t know who you’ve messed with, Cunliffe. If you knew Robin like I do, and me like she does, you wouldn’t have dared to be anything but a loving, wonderful husband and you should know, her enemies are my enemies, so you can be certain I will always be by her side to break your face as many times as we have to.”

Since he was in the hospital already, Strike let Anstis guide him to see a nurse and have his wrist and hand put in a cast, since as the adrenaline wore down his wrist screamed more in pain. Being trained in the army, Strike wasn’t used to punches actually hurting, he had learned good techniques to keep his hand from breaking, but this time he had twisted his wrist for sure. Anstis informed him, Cunlife’s jaw had broken in two areas, and dislocated even, so it was probably the hardest punch Strike had ever given.

Then he went to the office, as the night fell, and occupied himself with work trying to get his mind off things for a bit, but as his eyes closed that night, he was hunted down by visions of Robin dying in the hands of a figure that sometimes was Matthew and sometimes, someone else. In the morning Strike saw a text Nick had sent him overnight to let him know Robin had been put in a bedroom of her own and that she was stable and awake, so he quickly showered, ate, dressed, and after a quick stop to leave his bloodied shirt in the dry cleaner’s, he bought a giant, soft teddy bear, as big as his broad back, that said ‘Get well soon’, and got into the metro to head to the Royal London’s hospital. Strike had also passed by Robin’s flat –now guarded and closed by the police, after they had collected all evidence and fingerprints- and grabbed Robin’s laptop bag with her laptop and photocopies of some of their cases that he had made and put inside so she had something to do, grabbed a book of detectives that Robin had on her nightstand –what was clearly hers, because it also contained her watch, that he also took, and a picture of her parents- and then after finding a holdall Strike remembered she had taken to Barrow-in-Furness when they had gone there, he stuffed in there what he deemed as important belongings after having grown up with two women and lived with Charlotte for enough time.

He put a toiletry bag that, judging by the fact that it contained a hairbrush with some of Robin’s hairs, he deemed hers, and also put what looked like her toothbrush –one was red and another lavender colour-, a toothpaste tube, and her deodorant –luckily it said ‘for women’- inside. Then he tossed that into the holdall and carefully folded into the holdall some clothes he found. A handful of panties –he blushed as he went into her underwear drawer, but as the flat couldn’t be acceded by the family until police said so he imagined he had to-, what were undoubtedly her house slippers and her housecoat, and all the soft and warm pyjamas Strike found she owned.

The weight of all the things made his leg scream and his body sway to the sides as he walked into the hospital in the familiar neighbourhood of Whitechapel, but he was only thinking of seeing her. Nick had texted him the room number and when Strike finally made it, he was welcomed by a small room with a window to the corridor so the nurses could look often. There was general quietness, the light came dimly through the curtains, and Nick laughed at him the minute he saw him.

“I didn’t know you planned on living here,” Nick commented with a chuckle, visibly more relaxed than the day before. Robin looked at him from the bed in which she was slightly sitting up against the pillows, as it bend to prop her up and help her breathe, and Strike thought she had never looked so beautiful, despite the bruising around her left eye, the slight swelling that was still in her lip, and her pale face. She smiled softly at him looking tired but alive.

“Hi,” said Strike, ignoring Nick and the fact that Ilsa and Lucy, who should be at work, were there, along with Robin’s family.

“Morning,” said Robin, softly and weakly still. Her hair was loose, she was wearing a hospital gown, her right hand was bandaged up and she rested her hands on her lap, up to which the hospital sheets covered her, and aside from an IV into the back of her left hand, there was just an oxygen mask on her mouth, that she kept a bit separated with her other hand, just enough to talk while still breathing its oxygen. “What’ve you got there?”

“Well as an expert in hospital stays, I decided what you need is the ultimate personalized comfort package,” Strike gave her the giant teddy bear, making her chuckle, which involuntarily made him smile. “Something to help you sleep,” said Strike, and then he left the laptop bag on top of a coffee table by the sofa. “Work, only for when you feel better, I’ll take it back if I see you on it before that,” Strike threatened, and then he opened the holdall at the feet of the bed, where Robin had moved her feet and there was some space, and pulled out a blanket he had taken from the sofa at their hospital, extending it carefully over her bed sheets. “The weather guy says it’s going to get colder soon,” Strike clarified, and Robin’s smile grew, staring at him while hugging her new teddy bear with one hand. “There are also pyjamas, your toiletries, a book, etc.” Strike shrugged putting the book on the night stand and the rest, since she wasn’t ready to use them, he organised them into the closet.

“Have you gone through my underwear, Cormoran?” Robin asked raising her healthy eyebrow with a smirk. Strike blushed.

“I didn’t enjoy it anymore than you,” commented Strike shyly. “But police has your flat cordoned-off until they finish with it and no one can go in, so I managed... they said I could take these things as long as I didn’t contaminate evidence or something.” He shrugged.

“Thank you,” said Robin looking at him with bright eyes, retiring her mask a little further. “And for saving my life too.” Strike sighed.

“Now we’re even, uh?” he chuckled. “How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m high as fuck,” Robin joked. Her mother, sitting on an armchair next to her, smiled. “So no pain. And this makes breathing easier,” she pointed vaguely to the mask. “My face feels just slightly numb and the worst is my brain, but I’m fine, really. Just don’t ask me to move.” She snorted a laugh. “And I don’t remember much. Anstis already came making questions and I figured you would too.” Strike frowned.

“I didn’t come here to interrogate you, I know what happened already,” Strike said defensively. “I came here as a friend.”

“You know?” Robin asked surprised and Strike nodded.

“You married a tosser and he made a childish tantrum for no reason and you got hurt. End of the story,” Strike resumed, making her smile a little bit. “Look, he can say the fuck he wants and that doesn’t change what he’s done or justifies it. And nothing you don’t need to defend yourself to me, I know who you are and what you would or wouldn’t do. Hitting your husband for no reason like a nutter is one of those things our clients would do, but not you so if you broke his nose I know you had all the reason. Period. And Anstis knows too, you know? He just has to stay impartial or whatever.”

“Dad says he’s in the hospital?” asked Robin. “That you’ve been with him?”

“I made him a tiny visit,” Strike clarified standing by the bed. “I broke his jaw back at your place so he can’t talk, has it stitched up. But he wrote his own shitty version full of lies and I went just to let him know he can lie all he wants but he’s not fooling me, and well... yeah, short visit. But don’t worry, I was a good boy and didn’t hit him again, Anstis was looking.”

“Good,” Robin nodded. “He’s not worth anyone getting in trouble... Anstis said I called you and that’s why you knew to come. But I didn’t call you on purpose, it was good luck because your name is in the ‘C’. We were... you know... and I said something, and he got angry. He stood up and was walking around the bedroom yelling and my phone rang, and I thought something bad must’ve happened at work, so I grabbed it, I know, it was a stupid move.”

“It was incautious but then again, you shouldn’t have to be alert with your husband Robin,” Strike shrugged. Robin nodded sadly.

“I don’t remember exactly what happened. I think I told him I had to take the call, that it could be something important, and I turned to grab my phone from my night stand. It was Cradley, but I wasn’t in time to get it, so I went to call back, told Matthew it was a client and I had to take it, and he was still shouting nonsense, so I went to call him... and I think Matthew hit me, or threw something at me, while I was going through the contact lists so accidentally instead of hitting Cradley’s name I hit yours, and the phone fell and then...” Robin sat thoughtful for a moment. “It’s foggy...”

“It’s okay darling, you don’t have to think about it right now,” Linda squeezed her shoulder softly.

“No, I need to remember. The more time passes the harder it will be, and if I don’t remember then Matthew will buy people with his lies and I’ll have no story, Anstis already left with nothing,” Robin insisted, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath from her mask. After a moment, it came to her and she looked at Strike. “I think I rolled down the bed to the floor to protect myself and I shouted at Matthew and then... I don’t know, he punched me, I punched him, and we were wrestling on the floor, I guess a few of my bruises come from that... and then I broke his nose and while he was down I stood up, grabbed the sheets to cover myself, and shouted at him to stop, I got all angry he touched me and I said we were over. I was going to leave and call the police with the land line but he grabbed me from behind, threw me against a bookshelf, and it fell and I fell and...” Robin bit her lip, thoughtful. Strike frowned, impressed that she could sit stoic through telling such story, although then again, she had done the same through retelling how a serial killer had almost killed her. “My chest hurt, I think it wasn’t Matthew directly who broke my ribs, but the weight of the bookshelf, although he did continue to punch me later. I remember trying to tell him I couldn’t breathe, but I think I couldn’t. I don’t even recall what exactly he was shouting, but I think you got there right then, because I remember not feeling such weight on me anymore, and I remember the smell of your...” she blushed. “Your jacket smells like smoke.” She said with a little smile. “I remember smelling smoke and vaguely worrying something was burning.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“And I remember what he was shouting, so we’re a good team,” Strike joked to remove tension from the situation. “The only thing that burned yesterday was my blood, but it feels really well to punch that husband of yours. Soft face.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“Yeah, too soft maybe,” Strike thought he saw something flash through Robin’s eyes but he ignored it, blushing and looking at his sister instead.

“Don’t you have planes to work on or something?”

“It’s called aerospace engineering, brother, and it’s time you learn it,” Lucy rolled eyes with a chuckle, sitting down with a glass of tea takeout. “I called in sick, haven’t missed a day of work since you were in the hospital so my boss adores me and had no problem.” Strike nodded, impressed.

“Responsible Lucy lying to her boss...” he looked at Robin. “She must really like you.”

“I do, arse,” Lucy chuckled and Robin smiled.

“And I’m working, she’s my client, before you say anything,” Ilsa excused herself.

“Which reminds me I do have patients to attend,” Nick said suddenly, looking at his watch. “I’ll see you later girl, take care uh?” he smiled at Robin, waving back and Robin waved back before he moved to go.

“Hey! What about your actual wife?” Ilsa shouted at him. Nick smiled at her apologetically going to kiss her and then he left.

“Talking about husbands, when can I get a divorce?” Robin asked Ilsa.

“Well, first we need to get a restraining order,” Ilsa explained. “Finish off this thing and once he has been taken care of, we start the divorce procedure, it’ll be long but in the meantime you’re separated at least. That reminds me, we need to think what you’re going to do when you get discharged, you don’t have to go back to that flat and it’s going to take a couple months for that lung to recover so why don’t you come to my guest room? Nick can take care of your wounds and all.” Robin looked thoughtful, and then nodded.

“That would be nice, thanks,” Robin accepted, and then sighed deeply. “Fuck, I’m gonna be bankrupt, right? Matthew’s earnings kept us afloat. I can’t afford a place of my own.” Strike bit his lip guiltily.

“Don’t worry about that, Matthew will have to pay you a good chunk,” Ilsa assured her. “Then you can sell the flat and get more from the divorce deal, it’ll be enough to get by for a while.”

“And then maybe you should get a job in human resources, they liked you, or, work for the police, Wardle would love to hire you,” Strike offered looking grim. Robin frowned at him.

“Are you firing me?”

“Of course not,” Strike sighed. “But Robin, I can’t pay you more. You make more than I do at our job, I only take enough to pay my rent, the office and the very basics to live,” Robin’s eyes widened in realization.

“What?”

“Yeah, everything else goes to you. I told you, I pay you as much as I literally can afford,” Strike assured her. “And now you’re going to need to live without a good chunk of your monthly income. You should take a better paid job until I can hire you for what you actually deserve and in the meantime you can always help me with the cases if you’re bored. I’m not going to fire you or force you into anything, I’m just saying, realistically, it’s the best you could do for your own good.”

Robin looked ready to cry.


	7. Chapter 7

Linda Ellacott sighed leaning back on her chair and exchanged a look with her husband, who nodded.

“No one’s quitting her job,” Linda stated. “Your dad and I will help you financially, okay? We can afford it, you’ll come cheaper than Martin does, I’m sure.”

“Hey...” Martin groaned. Robin looked at her mother.

“Mum, I can’t accept...”

“You can and you will,” Michael argued. “You love that job and you’ve gone through enough, you’re not about to have to quit your job too for one of those you hate. We’ll send you some money, you’re our daughter, don’t be reckless and stubborn and let us care for you.”

“And you can stay with us as long as you want,” Ilsa pointed out. “If it makes you feel any better, we’ll rent you the room. But don’t run into bankruptcy just because your husband’s a wanker.”

“My guest room is also available, although I do live with three loud kids,” Lucy offered.

“Stephen and I are happy to help financially too,” Emma chimed in, squeezing Stephen’s thigh. “That’s what siblings are for.”

“And I can offer a camp bed awful for your ribs and the office’s farting sofa if you want,” Strike added. Robin looked at him and couldn’t help but laugh until she gasped for air and had to put the mask on.

“Well thank you, everyone,” Robin smiled when she could finally speak. “And when Cormoran and I get another famous case, I’ll pay every penny back, promise.”

“Don’t you dare,” Stephen rolled eyes. “Will you ever let me treat you like my little sister, or what?” Robin chuckled.

“Only when you want to give me a feet massage,” she joked.

Strike went back into the room a while later, after calling Cradley to make sure he didn’t need anything important and updating Anstis. Robin’s family had taken the opportunity of Robin’s nap to go get some sleep and have lunch at their hotel, and Ilsa and Lucy chatted in low murmurs while Robin slept with her cheek against the pillow and her oxygen mask in place. Cables coming from underneath her gown led to machines that informed of her cardiac rhythm. Strike took the seat Linda had vacated and as he leaned back and contemplated Robin’s sleeping form, he saw there was a thin tube coming from under the sheets. It seemed to end in Robin’s chest side.

“Nick says it drains fluid from her lung, keeps it working fine,” Ilsa commented as if she could read his mind. He nodded slowly. “She’ll be alright, Oggy.” She added softly.

“Some dude tried to kill her,” Strike blurted out before he could stop himself. “In university. That was six years ago. And then, a few months ago, Laing tried to kill her. And now her own husband tries to kill her. How can someone be alright after that? When all she knows is people trying to kill her even though she’s the kindest, sweetest of persons?”

Ilsa sighed, leaning her chin against his shoulder. He looked like a pissed, pouty bulldog sitting on an armchair.

“I don’t think you’re listening to yourself,” Ilsa said softly. “All I hear is she’s a woman who survived something terrible thrice. Someone utterly lucky and someone utterly strong, who despite it all, is the kindest, sweetest of persons. Of course she’ll be alright, it takes way more than that to knock that woman down, or didn’t you see that the other day at the pub? You can throw anything at her, but she’ll break your nose.” Strike snorted. His friend was, however, right.

“What if I don’t want for her to have to just survive anymore?” Strike asked in an impulse, looking at Robin.

“Then maybe you should help her leave her past in the past,” Ilsa murmured and then, in an almost inaudible whisper, she added: “and maybe let her do the same to you.” Strike’s head jerked to look at her and she gave him a knowing glance through her glasses. Before Strike could open his mouth, Robin groaned, and they looked at her.

“I’ll get a doctor,” Lucy said rushing outside.

Robin did, in fact, seem to be in pain. She was breathing heavily into her mask and shutting her eyes close, groaning in pain. Her hands, that had been relaxed on her belly, were now in tense fists. Strike stood up and moved a hand to caress Robin’s cheek, making her open her eyes.

“Breathe,” Strike indicated. “Lucy went to get the doctor. Does it hurt much?” Robin nodded. “Okay, just hang in there, the doc will be here any second alright? Just breathe and try to think of something else, like...” Strike searched in his brain for something entertaining and Robin’s clammy hand suddenly grabbed his, squeezing in pain. “Okay, remember that time you went to grab a glass from my office and throw it away and I didn’t let you? Well I had peed inside of it, that’s why I didn’t let you.” Robin’s eyes widened and she chuckled for an instant. Ilsa snorted a laugh. “Yeah, fuck you don’t know what it is to remove your leg and then suddenly you want to pee so badly and what do you do, right?”

“Fucking disgusting,” Ilsa chuckled at him, walking to the other side of the bed and squeezing Robin’s arm. Robin nodded.

“If you think that’s disgusting, you should hear what I did with the glass...” Strike murmured. Right then, the doctor entered and kicked them outside.

When they were finally allowed back inside, Robin’s IV bags had been changed and the girl was deep asleep with the drugs’ help.

**. . .**

Strike knew that in all recoveries there were good days and bad days, which is why he wasn’t surprised when, although some days Robin seemed to be nothing but great, other days she was a mess of pain, headaches, a savage stomach and bad mood. In those days she’d sleep twice as much during the day and Strike would read to her that book of hers that he had brought, and Stephen would massage her feet and the nurses would be extra kind and smiley. And then as she did recover they lowered her medication, which settled her stomach and improved her head, but also granted more lucidity and clearer mind, which brought nightmares and, Strike realised, tears. As the feeling of being high vanished, the crushing reality of what had happened collided with Robin at an alarming speed, and after crying in her mother’s arms for the most part of the morning, there she lied, emotionally exhausted and refusing to eat.

“Come on sweetie, if you don’t eat they’ll put a tube down your nose, and that’s not gonna be funny,” Linda tried to coax her. Robin reluctantly accepted a bite of her meat, her eyes still tearful. Strike had arrived after work, just an hour before, and alarmed himself with the image of Robin crying heartbreakingly while Linda tried to calm her down, but now everyone was calmer.

“Come on Rob, he doesn’t deserve your tears,” murmured Martin trying to be supportive.

“Try being with someone for ten fucking years,” Robin snapped between grilled teeth. “Marrying them, and then having them beat you up just like that, and you tell me if you’d cry or not, right Martin?” Martin gulped, taken aback, and Robin rubbed her eyes impatiently. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but she wasn’t sure she was doing it out of sadness or rage anymore.

“Robin, don’t talk to your brother like that,” Linda scolded her softly.

“Maybe he should learn how to talk to her older sister, mum,” Robin murmured.

“Maybe we should all calm down?” Strike offered, new at the paper of peacemaker. Robin rolled her eyes but shut up.

“I wasn’t trying to imply you shouldn’t cry,” Martin murmured, fearful of his sister. “I was just saying what you told me once. Remember? You can’t decide what happens to you but you can decide how you react to it.”

“That was some crappy psychological advice I gave you,” said Robin, rolling eyes at herself. “One more example of how stupid I am,” she added clenching her teeth and shaking her head, her eyes fixed on her bed sheets. “Giving stupid psychological advice, marrying an arsehole with full-knowledge that he’s a cheater and a tosser, instead of fucking leaving him like I should’ve done, and then going and getting my arse kicked by him when I should’ve been the one leaving him on a hospital bed.”

“You’re not stupid, Robin. A stupid person doesn’t resolve murders like you do,” Strike murmured.

“I do?!” Robin snorted. “You do! If Brockbank had been the killer then thanks to me we would’ve lost him. You resolve murders I just... help reach conclusions faster, no that you couldn’t do it without me. You resolve them all, literally last time, with Laing, I was putting on curlers in my hair and getting ready to make the worst decision of my life while you caught a murderer.”

“Robin, for Christ’s sakes, stop saying things that you know are not true!” Strike lost his patience, his eyes fixed on Robin. “You’re a victim, since when victims have to be blamed for anything?”

“I’m not a victim, I’m not someone like Brittany, I’m just a girl that made a really stupid amount of choices...”

“Enough,” said Strike sternly. “If you’re angry, direct it against that tosser, not yourself, because if you keep doing this I am going to get angry and leave.” Robin frowned looking at him, but shut up and hugged her teddy bear closer. For a moment she looked like an angry eight year old, which was somewhat adorable, but Strike’s classic scowl was set in its place. Robin no longer needed to use an oxygen mask unless she was really feeling unwell in a certain moment, but she did make use of an oxygen cannula. The chest tube had been removed and she had had a minor surgery to close the hole and stitch it up, yet she still tended to hug herself with her right arm with her hand right over the wound.

“You’re free to leave,” Robin muttered resentfully in her classic passive-aggressive mood, proud. Strike snorted, focusing back on the crossword he had opened on his knees.

“When I finish this thing... starts with ‘J’, modern indie musician from North Yorkshire?”

“James Bay,” Robin murmured in response. Strike nodded, seeing if it fit, and made a noise of success when it did, writing it down.

“Good job, your brain hasn’t been that rocked up hasn’t it?” commented Strike looking at the next word. Then, his phone buzzed, except that when he checked, it wasn’t his but Robin’s, that was still in his pocket. He didn’t look at the screen and handed it to Robin, who looked crestfallen. “Here, I forgot I still have your mobile.” Robin took it and snorted at the screen before accepting the call.

“What’s up Kimberley, how’s your brother? Heard he’s got a broken jaw these days,” Robin said darkly into the phone. Strike’s head shot up looking at Michael for confirmation, and the man nodded. It was Matthew’s sister. “Seriously?” Robin shook her head. “You guys are all the same, how did I ever consider being a Cunliffe was a good idea...” she muttered underneath her breath. “Well, fine, excellent, Kimberley. Yes, go ahead and sue me, say I did domestic violence on my ex-rugby player husband, and don’t worry, if you and him find someone who actually believes you, I’ve got the finest lawyer in London and I’m not worried... oh, come on Kimberley, bite my ass, you know? D’you really think I’m going to fear your family? Matthew may try as hard as he can to pretend he’s always been a Londoner but to me you’re still that family from the little gray house outside Masham about as humble as myself, so please, serve yourself. One thing I will tell you though,” she rambled angrily. “If you want war, I will damn give you war. And I will win.” She hung up and tossed her phone into the night-stand with a long breath out, closing her eyes and leaning back against the pillows.

“What does she want now?” Linda asked stroking Robin’s head.

“She wants me to sign a deal so we don’t go to trial,” explained Robin with a weak voice. “Said I only have to admit I abused Matthew and then they’ll be generous with me splitting our belongings. As if I was some pity case.” Ilsa frowned, scandalized.

“As your lawyer, Robin,” said Ilsa. “Do not attend more phone-calls from those people, okay? Whatever you have to say to each other can wait until the trial.” Robin nodded in agreement.

“I wanna throw up,” Robin murmured. Strike looked around and saw a bucket underneath the night-stand, so he grabbed it and offered it to Robin.

“Suit yourself?” Strike suggested. Robin grabbed it with a hand, keeping it on her lap.

“Jon honey, why don’t you try to find her doctor uh?” Linda asked her youngest, and like a rocket, he flew out of the bedroom. “It’s okay love, you’ll be fine.” Linda smiled at her only daughter, stroking her head over the bandage that was still there. Robin controlled herself with steady breaths, not really wanting to throw up, since it would taste disgusting and her friends and family were present. She therefore tried to fight it and keep it down.

“I knew risotto wasn’t a good idea,” Robin murmured under her breath. “I already puked it my entire childhood, why did I think I wouldn’t anymore...” Linda chuckled.

“You’re an optimistic,” Linda kissed her forehead. “Still feeling like throwing up?” Robin nodded. “Well then better out than in, honey.”

“Can you all leave?” Robin murmured. “Just so I can throw up. Just a moment. Please.”

Strike sighed as he washed his face in the hospital bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were growing again, he was pale from the lack of sunlight, and he hadn’t shaven properly in a couple days. Robin kept feeling worse and he wasn’t sure what else to do, while the doctors insisted that she was recovering and it was just secondary effects of the medication. He definitely hated hospitals.


	8. Cornish giant heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin grow closer

Around a week of Robin in the hospital, an infection appeared in the wound that her chest tube had left. Although the doctor assured them it wasn’t anything like a sepsis infection to worry about, it did give her fevers and made her feel worse and sleep more, and worried her family more. However, Robin’s brothers couldn’t stay much longer. Jonathan had just finished university the summer before and had a job to go back to, while Martin had also found a job in Masham and Stephen and Emma also had jobs they hadn’t attended in a week. Lucy drove them to the train station, as she had been as motherly with them as if they were grown up versions of her own sons, and Strike tried to look after Robin’s worried parents.

During the day, everyone had to work and Lucy even had a family to attend, so Nick and Ilsa, who could better pretend to be working than the others while visiting Robin, would update them through texting. Robin’s parents would stick to her bedside the entire day, sometimes Nick and Ilsa would accompany them for an hour o two, and then in the evening Strike would join, and often, Lucy, who was a couple times accompanied by Greg, when they could leave the boys with friends.

In compensation, Strike tried to spend most nights with Robin so her parents could go to the hotel and get some sleep. He didn’t like letting them sleep in the hospital because then Robin’s infection usually reached its peak and she would murmur in dreams or make worrying noises as the fever rose up. That was one of those nights, during the weekend.

“Sh...” Strike tried in vain to soothe his friend, whose face looked way better now and, according to the doctor, so did her head inside. Robin looked almost peaceful, with her honey-coloured hair braided to a side thanks to her mother’s talented hands, lying flat in bed with her head propelled up a little by the pillows. The oxygen mask was back because she always had it to sleep better, and her face turned to the side, nuzzling into one of her hands, revealing the long scar in her forearm. She was pale and sweaty from the fever and the nurses insisted on keeping her blankets and sheets up to her neck. Strike had been sleeping in the armchair, facing the bed, and woke up to noises like moaning, like a scared puppy, that came from a scowling, sleeping Robin, so Strike leaned forward and took her  hand between his ‘big, hairy mitts’. His own expression transformed with deep concern. “Come on Robin, dream of better things...” he pressed a kiss against the back of her hand and waited patiently until Robin seemed to relax again before putting her and back on the bed with the rest of Robin. “Good girl... I’m right here alright?” Strike murmured softly. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You have nothing to fear.”

Strike sighed standing up and walking around the room, the little beeps of Robin’s machines soothing him as he looked into the dark city of London through the windows. He put on his earphones and searched online for that James Bay Robin liked in his phone. A smile softly formed in his lips seeing it was actually a good one and recognizing melodies that he had heard Robin hum in the office when she thought no one was looking.

“ _’Cause I’m craving, still craving something I can feel..._ ” Strike hummed, his eyes moving to the sleeping woman. The lyrics could, if interpreted in that direction, tell Robin’s story.

Strike sat down back in the armchair he had been occupying as ‘I need the sun to break’ sounded against his eardrums, closing his eyes and leaning back. His stump was screaming and so was his back, but his brain focused on _‘been in the dark for weeks and I’ve realized you’re all I need I hope I’m not too late_ ’ as he tried not to feel too connected to Bay’s lyrics, and he fell asleep. He woke up what seemed like very short time later, and indeed the room was still dark, only illuminated by the streetlights coming through the windows, the machines around the head of Robin’s bed, and a little lamp.

Feeling observed, his eyes dared to the bed, removing his earphones, and saw Robin smiling softly at him, looking tired but relaxed.

“I’m sorry, am I snoring too much?” Strike asked concerned. Robin shook her head. She had retired her oxygen mask herself and exchanged it for the cannula, that was more comfortable.

“The rain must’ve woken me up,” Robin explained with the softest of voices. It had, in fact, started raining outside. “I was just looking at you. What are you listening to?”

“Oh,” Strike’s ears felt warm. “James Bay. I figured if you liked it, maybe it was cool, and I need new music because most of mine is full of memories with Charlotte,” Robin’s smile grew a little and she nodded. “He’s pretty good, yeah.” Strike nodded. “How are you feeling?” he asked shoving his mobile and earphones into his pocket and leaning forward towards the bed.

“I’m okay,” was Robin’s answer. “I’m serious, I think the fever finally broke down... I just feel like I have no energy left, but aside from that... no headaches, no turbulent stomach, I can breathe...”

“Good,” Strike nodded with a little smile. “You’ll be back in the office in no time, kicking asses.” Strike patted her belly confidently and then for some reason left his hand there, over the blanket, drawing circles with his thumb.

“I’m sorry,” Robin murmured then. Strike raised his eyebrows.

“About what?”

“My mood these days. I know it pisses you off. I’ve noticed. And it’s reasonable,” Robin shrugged. “I studied how sometimes people become so... twisted, after bad things happen, that they lose everyone who gives a shit for them. And I don’t want to lose you.” The revelation made her blush and look down and Strike felt his stomach flip.

“Uh...” Strike needed a moment to find his words. “I’m not pissed off at you, Robin. I understand what you’re going through better than you think, believe me... well, of course I don’t know what it actually is you’re going through, but you know... I sort of get it. What pisses me off is Matthew and the fact that this is happening to you of all people...” Strike sighed, biting his inside cheek. “Because I think you’re so pure and so kind and these things shouldn’t happen to you.”

“You really see me that way?” Robin asked with an excited tone. Strike snorted a laugh.

“Of course I do, silly, how else?” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re always looking after me even if I’m a dour, fat bulldog, and you fight for the things you believe in and are always trying to do your best. You know who described it perfectly?” Robin smiled. “Shanker. When he was driving me to your wedding, he said you were like my mum. Kind and wanting to save everyone. I had never seen it that way before but the more I think about it, the more I agree. Although thankfully you’re more intelligent than my mum, I wouldn’t want you having that kind of love-life. But like you, she also always did what she wanted, and didn’t care if that didn’t bring much money home or if people judged,” Strike looked away, thoughtful. “And I believe like her, you’ll come back stronger. You’ve already been smart enough to leave a bad situation before it ends like hers did, things will get better now.” Strike heard Robin sniffle and looked up to see her rubbing her eyes. “Hey, I didn’t say that to make you sad!”

“I’m not,” Robin smiled through the tears. “It’s just, that you said was very beautiful... you say really pretty things when one least expects it.” Strike chuckled and Robin looked at him with a little side smile. “You’re all sweet and soft in the inside of your big, Cornish giant heart.”

“Okay, but don’t tell my enemies or they will think I have feelings.” Strike said very seriously, making her laugh. Strike found himself really liking that sound, and he smiled without noticing. “Come on, little bird. You need your sleep.”

“I can’t sleep,” Robin shrugged, and smiled apologetically. She had liked that nickname. “Why is it that no one calls you by your name? You have like... a hundred different nicknames.” Strike shrugged.

“I don’t even remember where most of them come from anymore,” Robin snorted a laugh. “But you call me by my name. I like it.” Robin smiled at that, nodding. “Don’t you have nicknames?” Robin cocked her head, thoughtful.

“Martin calls me Rob, but it sounds manly. You just called me little bird, I like that one... because you don’t say it derogatorily like others do.” Strike pursed his lips into a tiny smile. “Tell you what... I will pass you music Charlotte hasn’t contaminated, and you pass me music Matthew hasn’t contaminated.” Strike raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Deal.” He offered a hand and Robin shook it and then, to his surprise, kissed the hairy back of it briefly, with a mocking smile.

“That can be our thing too,” Robin commented, squeezing his hand and not letting it go, as she held it over his lap. Strike looked intensely at her, feeling his heart drumming inside. He wasn’t sure if she was flirting, but the lack of a ring in her hand wasn’t helping to stop him from leaning into her touch.

“What’s your favourite colour?” Strike asked suddenly.

“Although that green dress is my absolute favourite... Blue.” Robin said. Strike jokingly raised his eyebrows and she laughed. “It’s not because of you! I just like it. Although you do wear it well.” She added pointing vaguely to his pale blue shirt. “What’s yours?”

“Blue, funnily enough. And green, depends on the form in which it comes,” Strike added flirtatiously. Robin blushed a little.

“So...” Robin looked at him, her cheek pressed against the pillow. “You know the hospital package because you were in a hospital a long time when your leg got blown out but... how do you know about domestic abuse?” she asked cautiously.

“Why would I know?”

“I feel it,” Robin shrugged. “I feel you know. And you say you understand more than I think so, you _have_ to know.” Strike shifted in his chair and sighed. “Oh, come on, Corm,” Strike looked at her, surprised she had called him that, “I thought we were opening up?”

“Uh...” Strike bit her lip.

“Please... I just... it feels lonely in here,” Robin pleaded. “I don’t know anyone who’s gone through this. I promise I won’t tell anyone nor judge...”

“Alright...” Strike puffed. “Charlotte. She was my own particular nightmare,” he explained. “It shouldn’t surprise you, when you met me you saw what she did to me. A purple eye, an ashtray to the eyebrow and scratches all over my face, remember?” Robin nodded slowly.

“What a bitch...”

“Yeah, well... but no one knows that, only you. Nick, Ilsa, Lucy... they know we’ve broken up. But when Lucy saw me I refused to tell her Charlotte did it, and I never told anyone what happened to make me leave her. I ignored my friends’ phone-calls, that’s why they phoned you at the office,” Robin nodded in understanding. “I didn’t see them, or talked to them, until my face was fully healed. And then I just said I left her, didn’t say exactly why. Everyone supposes it’s any of the five hundred other reasons I had.”

“Five hundred?” Robin frowned. Strike side smiled, crooking his head and nodded. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who would take shit from anyone. Even less that amount.”

“Right?” Strike snorted a laugh. “Charlotte has mythomania.”

“Pathological lying.” Strike nodded.

“We met at a university party in Oxford. She was the prettiest woman I had ever seen,” explained Strike. “My friend and I were looking at her, sitting alone, and I said I was going to get her. He said I was nuts,” Robin chuckled. “But I went there, and she looked at me, and I asked her how to clean a stain from my shirt. We’re talking about a rich, upper-class socialite girl.” Robin laughed.

“Oh God, that’s really how you get the women?” Strike laughed too, nodding. “Tell me she laughed in your face.”

“She should’ve, right? But no,” Robin looked at him attentively. “When Jago Ross came a while later, he was her boyfriend, and saw her there deep in conversation with me, he got all jealous and in front of everyone, Charlotte said she was going with me to clean my shirt. And she left him, just like that, and let me tell you she did remove my shirt, but not to clean it... I felt like Oxford’s champion.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“It’s romantic.”

“I thought so,” said Strike. “Then months later Charlotte confessed she had fought with Jago that night and to make him jealous, she was waiting for any guy to come and, whoever came, she’d sleep with him.”

“Ouch,” Robin frowned. “Manipulative bitch...” Strike nodded. “So you never really charmed her? You were just a tool to make Jago jealous?”

“Yeah... although then I had this charm that kept her with me for sixteen years, on and off,” continued Strike. “She broke up with me three times and in the end, I did it. Every time she did I’d come back begging, pleading, you know?”

“God, it doesn’t fit you at all...”

“Just like being with a faggot like Matthew doesn’t fit you,” Strike murmured. “See? Sometimes we do crazy stuff but it doesn’t make us stupid... it’s just being in love. It’s not our fault, we didn’t choose them.” Robin nodded slowly.

“At the end you know more about psychology than I do,” Robin smiled warmly at him. “So she was like Matthew then? Lying and all?”

“They’re all versions of the same, I think. Lying, cheating, flirting with other people... they’re people with low self-esteem who feed from the looks of desire from others. She was also quite nuts and would... look, I highly doubt she had depression or anything like that to justify how she behaved. You’ve seen how all my people hate her,” Strike commented. “Once, she stood on a rooftop, claiming she’d jump.” Robin covered her mouth with a hand, widening eyes.

“Shit, Corm...” he nodded. Away from Lucy’s judgement and anger, and Ilsa and Nick’s saddened looks, he found out it actually felt great to let things out. Robin wasn’t giving sad looks, just surprised, and she was angry at Charlotte, but wasn’t exploding on him. She didn’t look at him with pity and sadness. Strike wondered if in psychology she had learned how to behave through those things. “Although this explains why you’re so comfortable with the letters we have from the nutters, nuts it’s practically your second language.” Robin commented jokingly, with a smirk. He snorted a laugh, feeling at ease. “Wanna tell me what she did that made you leave? It can be our little secret,” she asked in a soft voice, with an understanding look, as if saying ‘go on if you want to, I’m here, but if you don’t, it’s also fine’. And surprising both of them, Strike nodded.

“She said she was pregnant and I was the father, although I think if she was, it was Ross’” Robin frowned. She remembered the time Strike had gotten so drunk and had talked about that, but now she knew Strike didn’t. However, she decided not to say, giving him the opportunity of talking about it in his own terms, remembering it, and deepening into it as he wanted. “Not an ultrasound, not a doctor’s appointment, not a stick... she never gave me any proof. For all I know, it was a lie. And then she comes and says she’s lost it, and she’s all crying about it... and I knew it wasn’t true. Charlotte hadn’t even had a symptom, in months, was as thin as always, as refused so fervently to pee on a stick or see a doctor... nothing. Even when she claimed to have lost it, no doctor. I had enough. Took a few of my things and left her flat, in which we lived, and moved to the office. That night, while you got engaged... I was walking through London to live in my office,” Strike said nonchalantly, as if he was talking about the weather. “What you saw was Charlotte tracking me and finding me in the morning.”

“Jesus Christ,” Robin took a deep breath from her cannula and squeezed Strike’s hand. “Well you know what? Her loss. More Cormoran Strike for me to enjoy.” Strike raised his eyebrows at her and she smiled. “If she isn’t in the picture that means when I get better we can be disasters together, sit in our farting sofa with popcorn and Doom Bar and watch old romantic movies while we de-romanticize them with our comedy comments. How does that sound?” Strike chuckled, genuinely happy.

“It sounds perfect.”

Morning found Strike snoring, with the head thrown back on the armchair and his hand still in Robin’s lap, their fingers interlaced, and Robin drooling over her pillow.


	9. The survivors and the warriors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A toast is made.

“You sure you can breathe fine?”

“Yes, mum... it doesn’t look too bad, doesn’t it?” Robin lifted her shirt up, looking at the bandage patch on the left side of her body, right under her left boob.

“You’re fine, sweetie,” Linda smiled at her. They were just picking Robin up from the hospital, after two weeks in it.

Robin, who still felt weak and was considerably thinner and paler than she had been at her last birthday, requested no parties, no fuss, over her discharge. She slowly made her way into the Herbert’s house remembering to breathe as her breathing therapist had instructed and taking things easy, letting her parents carry her things from the hospital. She only carried the teddy bear Strike had gifted her. Robin was received with enthusiasm, as much as possible while still doing as she had asked and not making a big fuss, by Strike and his friends and Lucy, and was guided into her new bedroom, that had an ensuite bathroom and that, as Nick had said, she could decorate however she pleased and make it her own.

With that in mind, Robin’s parents had taken her to buy, under their invitation, things to make her bedroom feel more like hers, as she could be spending a long time in the Herbert’s homestead, and she got new bed-sheets –she was burning the ones at the flat she shared with Matthew- and a little plant, a few new clothes, and new frames to set new photos of new memories she’d make without Matthew. She was keen to put as the first photo in those frames one the group had taken during her birthday, and then one of her family. No Matthew. Strike, meanwhile, gifted her a little cork board in which he had nailed all the newspaper pages that announced the cases they had resolved, the most important ones, to keep her spirits high.

“This is looking good,” Strike commented one day, entering her bedroom and looking around. Robin’s parents had gone back to Masham the day before, promising to come back for the trial, and Robin sat on the feet of her bed folding her laundry.

“Thanks,” Robin looked up with a small smile. Her eye had completely healed and the bandage of her head had disappeared leaving a small scar. Her hands were no longer bandaged either. James Bay’s ‘Scars’ sounded in the background, from Robin’s phone ‘ _we live through scars this time, but I’ve made up my mind, we can’t live us behind anymore_ ’ as what seemed to be a hymn to herself.

“How are you feeling?” Strike asked, flopping next to her.

“Physically fine,” answered Robin. “Emotionally still not quite there but well... it’ll be better when I’m divorced.” Strike nodded slowly.

“Well, we’re all ready to go. Whenever you’re ready.” They had made plans to help Robin dismantle her flat that day, so then Ilsa could inform Matthew’s lawyer he could go and pick up his things. With the lawyers mediating in the middle, it was agreed that the flat would be sold and the money would be split 50% between the two, until the divorce agreement could readjust the splitting of their economy and bank account. Robin had already opened her own bank account for that.

“Okay, let’s go,” Robin stood up to put her panties into its drawer and then followed Strike downstairs.

Following Robin’s directions, Ilsa drove the group of five to the Ealing flat, now free from police. Robin would’ve driven herself, but she wasn’t cleared for that yet. She had to breathe deeply as she opened the door and looked to the long, deserted corridor. Memories of fights and rows came back and she looked down.

“Any picture you see with me and Matthew, you break it and throw it into the litter, any, okay? It doesn’t matter what it is. And if they seem to be a picture of Matthew in which I’m just tagging along, just cut me from it and leave it in case he wants it,” Robin instructed. The group nodded in agreement.

“How do we split tasks, honey?” Lucy asked affectionately.

“Uh...” Robin looked around. “I guess I’m going to have to look everywhere to make sure I don’t leave anything behind and that we don’t take something that isn’t mine... so let’s just start by the sitting room and we’ll see...”

They went to the sitting room and started putting together carton boxes and labelling them with a pen, and then Robin pointed to the books that were hers, and they started putting them into boxes, breaking pictures, and going through any papers to save important documents and leave the rest behind. Since this had been firstly Matthew’s flat, Robin didn’t feel like keeping more than what was strictly hers. The task still involved a lot of hard effort, only eased by the order and neatness of the house, that looked as Robin remembered the last time she was there.

They focused in the tasks in mostly silence, stopping from time to time to ask Robin what to do with this or that, and after they had finished the sitting room and the bathroom, Robin found a bottle of wine and opened it for them, since she couldn’t drink yet, so they sat and relaxed for a moment. Then it came the kitchen, where Robin had little to grab. Matthew had bought most of the things in it, if not all, so Robin just made a quick check and then they moved to the bedroom, the only room left. Robin was silently grateful their flat was so tiny and only held a year and eight months of her life.

Police had left everything mostly as it had been when they took Robin and Matthew out of it, and it took her breath away. The bookshelf had been put back into its place from the floor, but the room, compared with the order everywhere else, was a disaster. Papers and books were around the floor, the bed was unmade and there were still bloodstained sheets on the floor. Robin, that had already done a small pause for a little cry in the bathroom, found her eyes getting wet again with the visions of Matthew and her wrestling around the floor, as long as memories of a very different wrestling when she had first moved there and they had made love in that same bed.

“If you want,” Strike proposed, standing behind Robin. “We can take care of this ourselves and you come later to see if we left anything behind?”

Robin nodded and turned around, grabbing the bottle of wine that was still half full and sitting on her porch to drink it herself. She’d simply not take more meds for the rest of the day. Strike looked back at her and sighed.

**. . .**

         “See? Everything is just like you left it,” Strike gestured to their office as he preceded Robin inside. Robin left her coat in the hanger and looked around, smiling.

“Those flowers weren’t there the last time,” Robin pointed to a small bouquet of flowers sitting on her desk.

“Must’ve been Dobby...” Strike shrugged, going into the inner office. Robin rolled eyes at his reference to her favourite books and went to her desk, checking the flowers. They were her favourite and smelled nicely, and came with a card in Strike’s distinct handwriting that simply said ‘Welcome back, little bird. We missed you here.’ Robin grinned feeling very touched at the gesture and looked at Strike’s door pressing the note to her chest.

Robin then made tea for the both of them while checking their mail, and walked to Strike’s office with both mugs of tea.

“Toast?” Robin suggested. Strike looked up at her from the newspaper he was reading and smiled with his lips pressed together, accepting his mug and nodding. “To us.”

“Us?” Strike raised an eyebrow.

“The survivors and the warriors. Of course us,” Robin chuckled, and they collided their mugs softly before taking a sip. Strike moaned at the taste.

“It always tastes better when you make it,” Strike complimented. “Thank you.”

“Thank Dobby for the flowers for me, will you?” Strike snorted a laugh and nodded. “On another business, we keep getting Brian Matthers’ threats. Well, you do.”

“Same kitten paper?”

“Affirmative.”

“Funny way to send threats. Do we have space to keep storing them?” Strike asked, and Robin nodded in affirmation.

“How long do you think he’s going to keep doing this? It’s been what, two years and a while?” Robin commented. “Do we know if his wife’s alright?”

“I doubt she’s still his wife,” Strike shrugged. “She should be alright. Talking about cases, Lamp-Hair’s case was just closed and Cradley still wants us for a while longer. While you were on medical leave, we also got...”

“I read the files you sent me,” Robin side smiled. “Dolores O’Gallan, she wants to know if her sixteen-year-old son Trent does weed, Lana Dee wants to know if her ex-boyfriend and her sister are dating, and Fabian McAllister wants to find out if his ex-wife Margaret Oland is taking their four-year-old daughter to church without his consent during her turn to have the girl.”

“I’d say it’s impressive but I expected no less from you,” Strike chuckled. “Good job.”

“Tell me that when I come back later today with a full report of what Ms. Oland and her daughter are doing today,” Robin side smiled. “I’ll also check on Trent, he’s sixteen, I think I can bribe him with these,” Robin pointed to her breasts and Strike laughed. “You do Dee and Cradley?”

“Sure, see you tonight for dinner at Nick and Ilsa’s?” Strike asked as Robin moved to go. The honey-haired woman turned around.

“Sure, pick me up at my place?” Robin joked, winked at him, and Strike laughed, while she chuckled and exited his office. Strike found himself in a really good mood.


	10. Encounter with Matthew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the trial, Matthew and Robin face each other.

On Monday November 7th the trial in which Matthew was accused of beating up and attempting to murder his wife, started. Ilsa’s objective was to prove Matthew had repeatedly abused of Robin physically, emotionally and psychologically, while Matthew’s lawyer wanted to make Robin look bad and Matthew look like a victim. Matthew’s jaw had recovered pretty well in the close to a month that had passed since the fight, so he was able to declare.

Their nervousness was obvious. Robin let her hair loose, since Ilsa told her it made her look younger, resemble a little kid more, which would undoubtedly play in her favour, and wore her suit with a skirt and short heels. Strike wore his best suit and tried to look less like an aggressive bulldog, and met with the Herberts and Robin at their house before they went to court together. Strike and Nick had never seen Ilsa in action, so they were also curious about it.

Half an hour before the trial, they all met inside the Central Family Court, so they could make sure Robin’s support team and their witnesses all arrived in one piece and on time. Robin’s family came, including her dear uncle; Robin’s best friends from school Jane, Lily and Rupert came from Masham, and Lucy left her children with Greg, changed her work turn to the afternoon, and showed up that rainy morning.

“Okay so we have your Doctor, Anstis, your neighbour and Cormoran as witnesses, but Matthew’s lawyer is your honourable arsehole Percy Rawlings so he’s going to use them as double blade weapons as always,” Ilsa looked over her shoulder at Rawlings, Matthew, and Matthew’s sister and father, who looked serious and grim. Matthew frequently looked at Robin, who nervously avoided his glances. “Don’t worry though, I’ve kicked Rawling’s arse before and he’s never won me a case so...”

“Thank God,” Robin murmured. “Oh no...” Matthew was walking to her and Strike put an arm around her shoulders, protective. “What do I do?”

“Don’t talk to him,” said Ilsa. “Not a word. We’re not leaving you alone with him again.”

“Robin,” Matthew said softly standing by Robin, ignoring the looks of pure hate Robin’s circle sent him. Robin looked tentatively at him and saw he had his ‘poor boy’ face. “Can we please talk?”

“My client won’t say a word to you unless it’s in front of a judge,” said Ilsa firmly, her eyes nailed on Matthew. Next to her, Nick looked at his wife proudly. Matthew nodded, still looking at Robin.

“Alright then just listen... Look, we don’t have to do this. We can go home, have some tea and talk our problems out. I’m sorry I hurt you, Robin, I didn’t mean it... you broke my nose and I just wanted it all to stop,” Matthew’s eyes were teary, looking pleadingly at Robin, who trembled in Strike’s arm, so he squeezed her against him further. Robin fixed her eyes on Matthew still. “Robin, I love you with all of me, I’ve loved you for ten years, and I know you love me too. We’re husband and wife, for God’s sakes... what about our vows? What about the children we talked about having? The nice house we dreamed of in Paris, remember? We have so many hopes and dreams together, so many good memories, and we’re going to throw it all to the littler just for one time we lost control?” Robin blinked tears away. They had had some romantic times in Paris, so much fun together. “Ten years, Robin...” Matthew sniffled. “I miss you. I wanted to see you in the hospital, be with you... it’s you I love. No one else. Not Sarah, not no one, I promise you. Please, give us another chance. Let’s go home and talk things through like husband and wife. Let’s love and care for each other for the rest of our lives like we vowed to do.” Robin took a deep breath and shook her head.

“The problem is, Matthew... I don’t think you know what love is,” Robin blurted out. “When I spent a year locked in my bedroom after someone raped me and tried to kill me, where were you? Fucking Sarah Shadlock. And I had been your girlfriend for almost four years. And I was too blind to see but now I’m not. Now I see how much you liked to seem superior to me, how you came to this city to pretend you were a Londoner and reject the origins I love about us, and when you told me not to check the A-Z it wasn’t because it made me more vulnerable, but because you wanted for me to be the pretty girl and reinforce the appearance of us being two perfectly settled Londoners in love to your people here. And you called all of that love, just like you called it love when you wanted me to abandon the job of my dreams for something that gave more money for you, when you made me feel bad for disliking Sarah when it turns out I had all the reason, and for my friendship to Cormoran, who turns out, is ten times the man you are. You called your jealousy love, your disrespect, love, your disloyalty, love. And you bribed me with pretty words that no longer work. Even when Laing almost killed me you weren’t so worried about me, you were busier doing some despicable comment on my job or Comoran. You call love forbidding me to invite my best friend to my wedding, and you call love manipulating my phone to block his number and yes Matthew of course I noticed, I am a detective...” she added to Matthew’s surprise. Strike’s eyes widened. That he had done what? “To you I’m just some little girl you have to tame. But I am a full grown woman, and I take no shit from no one, even less from you,” Robin snapped, rubbing her eyes. “And now you even pretend for me to apologize for things I haven’t done and when we go in there you’ll show your true colours to make me look like a bitch, and you’ll call that love too.”

“Robin I...”

“I feel sorry for you,” Robin said tearfully. “Because you’ve lost something beautiful and you can’t even see it and you don’t know what love is. Look, Matthew, I didn’t come here to punish you. I forgive you, because I know you’re just messed up and raised wrong and I remember the little boy you were and I want to believe you truly didn’t mean wrong. I want to believe you’re a good man who’s been blind and made terrible choices and I want to believe this will be your wake-up call as it’s been mine and you’ll get better and be the man I saw you as when I could still love you with all of me. I want to believe you’ll change and you’ll be with someone good and treat her right and have the things you want, and be happy, and I will do the same on my own. I came here to have my freedom back, I came here to defend myself from the shit you’re saying, and I came here to give you the lesson you need to be a better person. Not to ruin your life. I won’t do that. I won’t get into any...” she rubbed her eyes again, and motioned to Matthew’s group vaguely. “Malicious things your team prepared. I won’t purposely hurt someone I care so much about just for the pleasure of doing so because believe me, none of this brings me any pleasure. But I will defend myself. So if you want to keep lying and talking shit and being malicious just to hurt me, fine, I know now that you don’t love me, so as much as it hurts, I’ll allow it and I’ll just protect myself and stay true to myself. I don’t have a need to lie and attack you. I’m going to go with my heart on my sleeve and the truth on my side and set matters right, because I was raised good, and I won’t let you change me for worse. So go on. Do the hell you want. But don’t try any games because they won’t work anymore, Matthew.”

“Robin, come on. You know as well as I do without me you’ll be financially broke, I want to help you. If you truly want a divorce, we can make a deal and I will help you, but please...” Robin shook her head again.

“Corm, would you give me the rings?” Robin asked Strike tearfully. Strike had taken the rings from her cold finger as she lied in the ambulance, and kept them in his pocket. He did as he was asked and Robin took Matthew’s hand and put them there, closing his fist around them. “There,” a tear slid through Robin’s cheek. “Don’t worry about me. I have good friends and a good family, I’m more than alright. I know you’re desperate to make a deal because you think I came here all angry and ready to use the law to metaphorically stab you and ruin your life and all you’ve accomplished through such hard work, but don’t worry. I promise you I’m a fair person and I’m not here for vengeance. I’m not going to ruin your life, Matthew. This is a fight for me, not against you. Your conscience will take care for the hurt you’ve caused me, I hope, but not British Law. The Law will only help me start over.” Matthew frowned looking at the rings.

“Robsie, come home. Let me treat you right. Let me love you...” Robin smiled tearfully.

“Stop it, Matthew. I know this is all just character and when we go in there you’re going to turn into someone I’ll have a hard time recognizing, but well,” Robin shrugged. “I’m a strong woman, you know? I can take care of myself. I’m sorry for any pain I put you through, though... but it’s over. Now we’ll both be happy so, goodbye. Wish you well, Matthew.” Robin nodded and turned around, closing her eyes against Strike’s chest and letting him put his arms around her. Strike narrowed his eyes at Matthew over her head. Mathew scowled at him.

“Congrats, you ruined us. Happy now?” Matthew blurted out.

“How can you be so brainless to think I’m going to be happy when my best friend’s husband beat her up?” Strike breathed out, perplexed. “You know... God, Matthew...” Strike shook his head. “Robin has loved you for ten fucking years. She was never unfaithful to you, ever and, if maybe now you can finally believe it, between Robin and me nothing ever happened. Is none of your business, but while you accused her of sleeping with me, I was dating someone else so, really...” Strike shrugged. “You’ve lost her yourself with your own paranoiacs. You did this. And if you put a hand on her ever again, I’ll take care of you myself. Robin’s a kind, sweet woman, but I am an ex-soldier with a lot of accumulated anger towards you, and I won’t hesitate. If I ever have to put a hand on you again, your nose won’t be the only thing bleeding on you. And just for your information... if my best friend wants me there at her wedding I will be there come rain or shine, despite any shit her groom says. Get a grip and be a man, Matthew. You’re too old to behave like a jealous sixteen-year-old.”

Matthew looked at him angrily and left. Strike shook his head and squeezed Robin closer, rubbing her back.

“What a brat...” Rupert, Robin’s friend, narrowed eyes at Matthew.

“It’s okay,” Strike looked down at Robin. “We’re going to make some justice today, Robin. He’s never touching you again.”


	11. Robin's turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin answers questions at the trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the lack of posting, my summer's hectic and I just got a wrist injury and using the computer has gotten a little tricky.

“Mrs. Cunliffe, was this, the first time Mr. Cunliffe’s conduct was offensive, disrespectful, abusive or hurtful to you?” Ilsa was asking Robin, after the younger woman had recounted the facts of the day she was attacked. “Minor offences also count...”

“No,” Robin answered. “When I was twenty I was sexually abused and almost killed in my university campus and as a result, I spent a year locked in my bedroom, agoraphobic,” said Robin, her voice hoarse from emotion. “It was my fourth year as Mr. Cunliffe’s girlfriend and he spent it having sexual relationships behind my back with his best female friend, who’s in this room, and when I finally found out earlier this year, he claimed he, and I quote, ‘was suffering too’. Since he was incapable of maintaining a relationship of just friendship with someone of the opposite sex, he always thought I was the same and he was untrustworthy of any friendship I maintained with a man, frequently making comments about how every male friend I had was dying to have sex with me and how I obviously would do it. Mr. Cunliffe would therefore frequently doubt of me and my loyalty to him and accuse me of unfaithfulness and he would make disgusting comments in regards to my male friends, even my colleagues at work, disrespecting them with the full knowledge that I disapproved it,” Robin continued, her voice firm in the courtroom, despite the hoarseness. “He went as far as to manipulate my phone behind my back to block the number of my best male friend and colleague before our wedding, and forbid him to come, just because he thought my friend was after me, sexually speaking...” Robin shrugged. Retelling the same things over and over was becoming exhausting. “Of course if I was ever jealous of the woman he cheated on me with and disliked her, he’d call me paranoid. And aside from his jealousy... he holds resentment against me. He was always making comments as if I wasn’t... good enough for him. I didn’t make money enough but I worked too many hours, and since he put more money into the house then I also had to do more house chores as some sort of compensation, and be his pretty toy to show off at work meetings so he could look good. It was as if... as if Matthew saw himself superior to me, and I was just a mere property. When my job started making me more independent and happy by myself, he seemed to feel threatened I wasn’t going to be tameable anymore.”

“Did your husband insult you?”

“Not directly, but he did make derogatory comments on my intelligence and my ambitions, that to him were childish, among other things. He liked to make me feel... inferior in the way he spoke of me, and he highly underestimated me. Every time I came home happy because I had done something really fascinating and I was proud of myself, he’d put my spirits down,” If Robin hadn’t been looking back and meditating on these things for close to a month, she wouldn’t have been able to speak like that. But she had finally opened her eyes and saw Matthew for what he was, and the realization of what his doings had been about had crashed on her like a piano. “Like I said, he liked to feel superior, so every time I could seem bigger, he’d shove me down. He’d do the same when we were at meetings, if someone seemed more impressive than himself, he’d try to change things, brag. The night I introduced him to my work colleague, who’s an ex-soldier, he couldn’t help but mention his father was a soldier too, even if my colleague never even mentioned his past.”

Ilsa stood firm in a way that, Strike noticed, made Nick’s eyes bright. That was the way, Strike thought, in which Matthew should’ve looked at Robin. The revelation of how Robin’s life had truly been with Matthew, while he thought she was perfect, hit Strike like a bucket of cold water.

“But he never put a hand on you before October 10th, right?”

“Right. Well...” Robin frowned slightly at the memory. “He had grabbed me in the past, but obviously given my past and well, that I’m a normal person, when those things happened I would always shout at him to get his hands off me, and it seemed to be an unspoken agreement that getting physical was were the line stood, a line that he always seemed scared to reach, up until October 10th. And I think he always knew that would be the one thing I would never consent on going back to him from. But he hadn’t hit me before, no. Things hadn’t been thrown around the flat either before. Verbal aggression, yes. We rowed often, even more since I got my new job and I guess he felt threatened... then we started fighting weekly, almost every day.”

“Who did usually initiate those fights?”

“Matthew. Normally he had a comment about either my closeness to my colleague or my small earnings and tried to force me to work somewhere else. Made derogatory comments of my colleague and that was something I wasn’t willing to stand either.” Strike shifted uncomfortably in his seat, between Nick and Lucy, who took his hand and drew slow patterns on the back of it with her thumb to relax him.

“What were the things that would make you initiate rows?” Robin sat thoughtful for a minute.

“Usually my only problem, if I was the one starting, was the woman he had cheated on me with, a friend of Matthew, even before I knew of what he had done. I think she likes Matthew and even when the four of us would go out, she with her boyfriend and Matthew with me, she would pinch in the topics that caused stir between Matthew and I. She’d comment on my low pay, she’d try to get me to talk generously of my colleague so Matthew would get mad at me, she’d flirt with Matthew on my face. So I naturally disliked her, but I never tried to push Matthew away from her. In fact, Matthew asked me expressively if she could come to our wedding when I found he had cheated on me with her and I let it happen because I didn’t want to be one to tell him what he could or couldn’t do. I thought he’d naturally refuse to invite her in consideration to me, but he didn’t. I didn’t like to control Matthew or meddle in his things.”

“As opposite to him, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Ms. Cunliffe,” Ilsa threw Robin an apologetic look and Robin nodded. Strike had the feeling that they had agreed on which topics to talk about before the trial and Ilsa was asking for a last confirmation. “Did your husband ever tried to push you into sexual interactions?”

Robin breathed deeply and then nodded, looking at Ilsa. She could not look at her people while admitting that.

“Sometimes, and at times while I was mad at him, he’d touch me without my permission. Like, for example, in one occasion after a row I was upset and I was doing the dishes, and he came behind my back and fondled my... well, my breasts. As if that made everything alright, all of the sudden. He tended to do things like that. He’d take my laptop from my hands, literally, just to try have sex, even if I said no. Most of the time I let it happen because I didn’t want another row, you know? But Matthew never quite seemed to understand that after being raped, I didn’t really enjoy sex as much as him, nor got as much pleasure. Most of the time we had sex,” Robin blushed and looked down. “I wouldn’t finish, if you know what I mean. He would and then roll off and go to sleep. So whenever he tried to have sex with me there was a high chance I wouldn’t feel like it and he’d have to coax me into it.”

“Alright well... you’ve also told me he’d invade your privacy. What can you elaborate on that?” Strike looked at Matthew. He had narrowed eyes at his wife with malignity.

“Aside from the episode I talked about with my phone,” said Robin, her voice sounding more relaxed now, although she was blushed and refused to look anywhere but at Ilsa. “I caught him using my laptop without my permission more than once. He had his own laptop, he took mine to see what I had been up to. As soon as I noticed, I changed my password, since he had guessed the one I had. Not that hard when your password is the day you got engaged, uh?” Robin shrugged. “Matthew particularly hated it if he found out, either by using my laptop or looking at my screen while I did so, that I had been researching work-related stuff, as it is what I usually use my laptop for, to be honest. And when I separated from him earlier this year, when I found out he cheated and we spent... a few days apart, he called me and texted me constantly. He’s so controlling when that didn’t give him results, he called my mother to locate me.”

“Did he ever threaten you with anything?” Ilsa asked then.

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “Not often though. The most serious I remember is when we separated and I left London for a couple nights. My colleague and I were out of the city investigating for the Donald Laing case, the Shacklewell Ripper? And Matthew found out and while before he had been texting in peaceful ways begging and apologizing, suddenly he texted, and I still have that text in my phone history, ‘if you sleep with him, we’re done’. Which is funny, because I had been pretty clear I was done with him when I left him there, but well. That’s Matthew and everyone will see today. He’s either an angel or the devil, depending on what’s convenient. He knows how to seem a poor little puppy when he wants to, crying and all. That’s how he got me back that time.” Robin sighed, tiredly rubbing her cheek.

“I’ve got no more questions for Mrs. Cunliffe.” Ilsa declared then. But Rawlings did have some, so he stood up for his turn.

“Mrs. Cunliffe, is it true that you were jobless, with no University degree, in your hometown of Masham, North Yorkshire, at the beginning of 2010 and it was Mr. Cunliffe who offered you to live with him in London, as he contributed the most money to the homestead, proportioning you a home and good job opportunities?” Robin snorted, but nodded nevertheless.

“Yes, it is.”

“Is it true that Mr. Cunliffe encouraged you in all of your job interviews?”

“No, he encouraged me in what we deemed ‘the fine interviews’ not on my temporary jobs, for example,” Robin answered. “But he was supportive, yes. At first.” Mr. Rawlings seemed satisfied.

“Mr. Cunliffe says you spent up to eight daily hours with your colleague, Mr. Cormoran Strike, don’t you reckon that’s enough to make a man jealous?”

“Objection!” Ilsa’s shout so suddenly make Strike jolt. “We’re not here to discuss whether Mr. Cunliffe had or not reasons to be jealous of his wife, but to judge if he’s an abusive husband or not. The hours Mrs. Cunliffe spends working are irrelevant.”

“Accepted, Mr. Rawlings please focus on the matter.” The judge said. Robin had a shadow of a smile towards Ilsa.

“Alright, your honour,” Mr. Rawlings shrugged. “Thing is, Mrs. Cunliffe, all I’m hearing is that you’re some sort of saint and your husband, a bad husband. But you aren’t telling the whole side of the story. You aren’t telling that Mr. Cunliffe had in fact reasons to be angry at your relationship with Mr. Strike, because it was Mr. Strike or work that made you delay on arriving to Masham when Mr. Cunliffe’s mother died. Or am I lying?”

“When Matthew’s mother died I was investigating a murder, which is what made me delay on being there for my then fiancé, but it was a murder investigation, not something light...” Robin answered. Mr. Rawlings interrupted.

“So you do reckon Mr. Cunliffe had reasons to be mad at you and Mr. Strike?”

“I suppose he had some logical reasons, but not m...”

“Didn’t you break your husband’s nose?”

“What?” Robin was caught off-ward after being interrupted again.

“Didn’t you break your husband’s nose?”

“On October 10th, on self-defence, yes.”

“Self-defence?” Mr. Rawlings frowned. “What self-defence do you, that precisely have a self-defence course, need against your husband, who you do recognize has always been peaceful and who doesn’t know about fighting?” Robin’s eyebrows raised and her eyes widening. But Robin wasn’t intimidated. Before anyone could stop her, she had stood up and lifted her blouse up enough to show the large bandage over her ribs.

“My husband had sunk my ribs into my left lung, and if I hadn’t punched him I probably wouldn’t be alive to tell it. And if you haven’t noticed, I have a scar as big as your pinky finger on my head because of him too.”

“I’m sorry but according to the investigation’s files, that the judge has in his power too, a bookshelf fell on you during the row, and those wounds could perfectly well have been caused by the bookshelf, as my client suggests. So what exactly did he do to you?” Robin’s jaw dropped slightly.

“Objection!” Ilsa shouted again. “Mr. Rawlings’ theories are pure speculation and not backed by the investigation, that doesn’t mention what exactly caused Ms. Cunliffe’s wounds. Mr. Rawlings is also judging that my client’s a liar, and he’s not the judge in this room, your honour.”

“Accepted, Mr. Rawlings please behave.” But Rawlings had gotten what he wanted. The doubt was introduced to the jury.

“Your honour, I’ve got a statement here signed by Mrs. Charlotte Ross, who couldn’t be here today,” Mr. Rawlings gave the judge a paper. Strike’s blood froze and Robin’s eyes widened. “In which she states that Mrs. Cunliffe intervened in a conversation Mrs. Ross was having with Mr. Strike on October 9th at The Tottenham pub, and punched Mrs. Ross. The two got in a big row with several witnesses. I would also like to mention Mrs. Cunliffe has a record of violence, since she also attacked a Neil Brockbank a few months ago at his house, isn’t that right Mrs. Cunliffe? But your husband doesn’t...”

“Objection! Mr. Rawlings is mentioned two occasions in which the situations had nothing to do with this,” Ilsa said angrily. “I myself was a witness of the row with Mrs. Ross, and Mrs. Cunliffe was protecting Mr. Strike and his step-sister from the verbal harassment and insults made by Mrs. Ross, yes it wasn’t right of her but it was a delicate situation that shouldn’t be compared to the one that has us here today, but looked at with new eyes and the whole story in front, not just the side of the affected party. And Mrs. Cunliffe never attacked Mr. Brockbank, so get the whole story Mr. Rawlings because what actually happened, and you can ask Scotland Yard for the full story, is that Mrs. Cunliffe was checking in with a little girl he has been jailed for abusing sexually of, to check if she was alright, when Mr. Brockbank attacked her, she defended herself, and she got the police the proof necessary for Mr. Brockbank’s arrest shortly after.” Ilsa rambled narrowing eyes at Mr. Rawlings.

“God, she’s so hot when she’s fierce for justice,” Nick murmured under his breath.

“Accepted,” the jury said. “Jury please don’t have in count Mr. Rawlings’ affirmations, as they have nothing to do with this case and aren’t a legitimate evidence of Mrs. Cunliffe’s personality.”

“Mrs. Cunliffe, do you think whispering your colleague’s name while you’re having sex with your husband is a reason for Mr. Cunliffe to be upset?” Robin rolled eyes.

“I suppose, but I only did it because like I said...”

But Mr. Rawlings interrupted.

“Mrs. Cunliffe, if your husband is as much of a bad husband as you claim, why did you not only stay with him but marry him three months ago?” Robin’s eyes widened.

“Because love is blind, that’s why,” Robin snapped. “I had been with him for ten years, I wasn’t about to throw it all away at the first challenge.”

After that, it was Matthew’s turn to answer questions.


	12. Trying to prove my point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trial goes on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews. My wrist is doing better, and I am always thankful and blessed to get reviews and see what all of you think. If you wish to, I have a tumblr (https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/) where I often talk about my fics, or post content fandom related, if you want to check it or talk to me there, feel free!  
> Hugs!

****

“What’s your version of what happened in October 9th, Mr. Cunliffe?” Mr. Rawlings asked.

“Well,” Matthew straightened in the chair. “I had asked for a sick day at a job I had just been promoted to because the day before I had been working through my wife’s twenty-seventh birthday and I wanted to compensate her. I bought flowers, champagne, made her breakfast in bed... after having a romantic walk outside, we went home and we... well, we had sex. As far as I’m concerned, my wife was enjoying it,” Matthew said calmly, with an air of superiority and innocence he must’ve rehearsed during the weeks spent in jail waiting for trial. “Things got rough when she orgasmed whispering ‘Cormoran’.” Strike blushed. Looking at Robin, he saw she was leaning back on her chair, with a hand over her chest wound, looking tired. “It obviously bothered me, so I separated and got my boxers back on while arguing with her about it. But she was paying more attention to her mobile than me, so I got angrier, and I threw a slipper at her. A soft slipper, from walking inside the house. She dropped her phone and fell off the bed, so I went to help her in case she hurt herself, and she started shouting at me. Then she pushed me, slapped me, and before I knew it my nose was broken. I tried to calm her down but she was hysterical, and we wrestled, she hit backwards our bookshelf, and this fell on her, causing her injuries. I got her out of under the bookshelf, realized she couldn’t breathe, and was trying to help her when Mr. Strike threw me against the wall and broke my jaw. Then I was arrested unfairly.” Strike’s eyebrows rose in surprise. Robin didn’t seem surprised.

“Have you ever been violent, Mr. Cunliffe?”

“No.”

“Has Mrs. Cunliffe ever told you she wasn’t satisfied with her sexual life with you?”

“No. She always seemed happy.”

“Did you ever grab her phone or laptop without her permission?”

“No.”

“Did you ever threatened her?”

“No. It is true that I texted her, like she said, that if she slept with Mr. Strike we were done. That’s true. And I admit I cheated on her, but that was seventeen years ago. I chose her.”

“Did you forbid Mr. Strike on your wedding?”

“And he came anyway. I told my wife I didn’t want him there after he made her late to my mum’s funeral, I was angry.”

“How did you feel towards him?”

“He looked at Robin as if he was fucking her with the eyes and he’s way older than her, was a homeless living in his office, I was worried he wasn’t paying my wife what she deserved and that he was taking advantage of her kind heart and putting her in life-risk situations, such as the one with Laing.”

“Were you supportive of her professional choices?”

“Sure!” Matthew nodded. “I encouraged her to take good jobs that paid well, that she liked and that treated her right. Ultimately she chose working with Mr. Strike and it bothered me because I thought she deserved way more. But I was happy she was happy.”

“Were you aware of her dislike to your friend you cheated on her with?”

“Yes,” Matthew sighed. “But Sarah’s my best friend and Robin, the love of my life. It was my dream that they’d get along, I just wanted Robin to try.”

“Did you try to befriend Mr. Strike too?”

“Yeah, but we had very different interests and I deplored parts of his conduct. Arriving late, leaving in the middle of dinner to smoke... those things. He worked too much for us to meet more often though.”

When Ilsa’s turn arrived, Strike could see she was having none of Matthew’s shit just by the look in her face as she buttoned up her suit jacket. Strike turned his eyes to look at Robin’s parents, that were scowling and looking at their daughter more than at Matthew, her brothers, that seemed ready to ambush Matthew and kill him, and her friends, that leaned forward with frowns, their eyes fixed on Matthew full of hate.

“Mr. Cunliffe,” Ilsa started, her voice neutral but cold. “Is any of what your wife said about you grabbing her breasts when she was angry, a lie in your opinion?”

“Yeah, I’ll never do that. When she was angry I let her be and went to do my thing,” Ilsa had done it. Now he looked like a careless husband and he noticed his mistake in people’s faces. “I mean, no, I went and...”

“Why did you think Mrs. Cunliffe was cheating on you with her colleague when she left you earlier this year?”

“Well, they were alone for a couple days outside the city. My wife’s a beautiful, sexy woman, and Mr. Strike is not compromised and could probably use some sex,” Strike snorted a laugh. “I drew the obvious conclusion.” Strike two. Ilsa raised her eyebrows.

“So to you the obvious conclusion to your loyal wife spending time with other men is that she’s cheating? Wow.”

“I didn’t mean...! No!” Matthew was getting nervous and Ilsa hid a smile.

“You claim your wife cheated on you but do you have any actual proof of this?”

“Well, no but...”

“Do you truly think, Mr. Cunliffe, that her relationship with her colleague is good enough of a reason for you to be violent with her?”

“What? Well I don’t like being c...” Ilsa cracked a smile and his eyes widened. “No, I wasn’t violent with her, you’ve ambushed me!”

“But Mr. Cunliffe... thing is shouting and insulting is violence too. And if you’re going to pull out Mrs. Cunliffe’s past, why not pull out yours?” Ilsa grabbed a paper from her desk. “You were a rugby player, right?”

“Yeah, still play sometimes...” Matthew said cautiously.

“Here I have not one or two but up to five attention calls and complains to you just in the period 2004-2011, for excessive violence and lack of sportsmanlike,” Ilsa deposited the papers on the judge’s desk. “What have you got to say about that?”

“It’s rugby, sometimes the circumstances...”

“Ah!” Ilsa nodded. “So you admit sometimes under certain circumstances one can get a bit violent?”

“Well, yeah?” Matthew frowned.

“Alright then, I casually agree. You know what? Today I’m going to bring a handful of witnesses here and they’re going to say many things but above all, they’re going to insist in your wife’s natural kindness and relaxed personality, and it makes me wonder, how much has a woman like that to stand for it to come a point when she explodes and not just punches her husband but breaks his nose? Because your wife doesn’t weight much, not even before a two week hospital stay,” Ilsa reasoned calmly. “So she had to be very angry, don’t you think?”

“I’m afraid my wife is a bit emotionally unstable...” Robin snorted under her breath.

“Emotionally unstable,” Ilsa looked incredulous. “But she didn’t kick your ass when she found out you cheated. She packed her things and left. That doesn’t seem very emotionally unstable, don’t you think?”

“She was more mature then I guess.”

“And she wasn’t emotionally unstable either when day to day she’s dealt with dangerous people such as murderers John Bristow, Elizabeth Tassel and Donald Laing, there hasn’t been a single complaint against her. And if she really was as emotionally unstable as you claim then, I wonder, why did you marry her?”

“As my wife put it,” Matthew narrowed his eyes at Ilsa. “Love is blind.” Ilsa rolled eyes and kept going.

“Alright so, tell me. Do you love her?”

“I’m utterly in love with her, yes.”

“But Mr. Cunliffe, you lied to her for seven years about your relationship to Ms. Sarah Shadlock. Your wife found out you cheated, not like you confessed first, you just admitted it later. So if you can lie to someone you claim to be so in love with, for years and years, no remorse, then why should we believe your version of this?”

“Objection!” Mr. Rawlings yelled. But Ilsa smiled.

Next, the medical examiner that analysed Robin’s injuries was called to testify and explain those injuries, as they were exposed on a screen. Strike’s jaw clenched.

“We firstly find a more obvious chest wound, in which up to three ribs in her lower, left side, have broken, bending forward and penetrating her left lung. Being three ribs, there was already a dangerous decompression of her chest cage, but with perforation of the lung, breathing becomes almost impossible even if you have the other lung, not to mention the excruciating pain,” the medical examiner explained. “It takes a lot of strength to cause such wound, it’s not something Mrs. Cunliffe could’ve inflicted herself, not even Mr. Cunliffe. The bookshelf was, we found, the only explanation in the room, but when analysis said bookshelf we found it was too stable to fall by itself, not even if it was pushed strongly. Our final conclusion was that Mrs. Cunliffe did collide with it, in accordance to numerous bruises found on her right side of the body, that she fell to the floor and while she lied there, someone else, Mr. Cunliffe given that he was the only other person in the room, grabbed the bookshelf and strongly pulled it forward, dumping it on top of his wife and cracking her ribs. Our investigation also concluded that, due to the width of the bookshelf, it’s not possible that with this, the bookshelf also injured her head, where we find two separate injuries. Plus, for it to injury her head it would’ve had to collide with her shoulder, where the bruising wasn’t matching. One head wound matches with a strong punch with a right, dominant hand, on Mrs. Cunliffe’s temple, fracturing the bone there. Her husband coincidentally is right handed and had matching bruising on his hand. The other injury matched with a zone of the lower wall of their room, where there was a mark of a strong hit and remains of Mrs. Cunliffe’s blood. However, again, she wouldn’t have been capable of causing herself that injury alone, it would’ve taken too much strength. Someone else had to throw her against the wall, or grab her by the shoulders and push her back with such strength her head collided with it.”

“Do you think Mr. Cunliffe has the strength for this?” Ilsa asked.

“Sure,” the medical examiner nodded. “We also found a hand mark of strong grabbing in Mrs. Cunliffe’s forearm, the size of the hand was too thin to be Mr. Strike’s, but matched Mr. Cunliffe’s. There was also multiple bruising all over her body, including an split lip, all caused around the same time chronologically, definitely not from a previous day. Her right wrist was twisted in a way that matches punching someone without having much experience on it, which matches Mrs. Cunliffe’s history. To us it’s obvious that Mrs. Cunliffe was beaten up by a person with more strength and a lot of anger, and it’s not matching with self-defence. However, Mr. Cunliffe’s wounds do match with having been caused mostly in self-defence and when compared with his wife’s it’s obvious he was the attacker.”

“What are his wounds?”

“Well firstly, he has a broken jaw. Mr. Cormoran Strike admitted he caused that one in an attempt to separate him from Mrs. Cunliffe, since as he claimed, he was coming back to keep hitting her. The story matches, because in the room there was only one person strong enough to cause two fractures in the jaw, and that was Mr. Strike. Besides, it’s matching with someone who has experience in punching, and Mr. Strike not only was a soldier, but a boxer,” the medical examiner explained. “Mr. Cunliffe also had a broken nose that his wife admitted to cause. The story also matches. But aside from that, Mr. Cunliffe only had a few minor bruises, many less than his wife, and by the shape and well, the full forensic exam of them, we determined they matched self-defence, that the person who caused them was just protecting herself. As a matter of fact, after a full analysis of both Mr. Cunliffe and his wife’s wounds we concluded that through the fight, Mrs. Cunliffe made a conscious act of protecting herself first, using her arms and body to shield more important organs, and attack second, which is why she barely had time to hurt her husband. She was purposely trying not to hurt him.”

“Mr. Strike had blood in his shirt,” Ilsa continued. “Was it Mr. Cunliffe’s?”

“No,” the medical examiner shook his head. “A simple analysis concluded it belonged to Mrs. Cunliffe’s and the chemistry of it indicated it came from her lung, expelled through coughing. It’s matching with Mr. Strike’s story, that he used his body so Mrs. Cunliffe could support on him and try to breathe better, and she coughed blood. It was in her neck too, and in the sheets she was wrapped up with.” Robin turned in his chair and looked meaningfully at Strike.

Mr. Rawlings came next.

“Mr. Strike claimed that he had pulled my client from Mrs. Cunliffe, but you mention she was under a bookshelf,” Mr. Rawlings said. “How do you explain that?”

“Mr. Cunliffe first pulled her out of the bookshelf,” the examiner shrugged. “Once it fell it emptied its contents on his wife, so it lost a considerable amount of weight. Not hard to move it aside. Our investigation concluded that for Mr. Cunliffe to crash with the wall against with Mr. Strike threw him, he would’ve had to be standing right beside his wife as if he had just moved away the bookshelf, and Mr. Strike would’ve had to come behind him, grab him by the armpits, and pull him backwards, as he says he did.”

“So you can’t confirm whether Mr. Cunliffe was helping his wife or hitting her when Mr. Strike grabbed him?”

“No, I can’t.”

Strike was then called to the stand. That finally gave him a clear look of Robin, and saw her exhaustion face, that managed to smile at him briefly. Strike nodded, calm and relaxed, as he leaned back in the chair.


	13. She doesn't deserve this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike has some sweet things to say

Ilsa looked at her best friend and repressed a sudden urge to giggle. It was, finally, surrealist to be interrogating her own best friend in a trial.

“Mr. Strike, can you tell us what your relationship with Mrs. Cunliffe was?”

“I’m ‘the colleague’,” said Strike a bit comically. “I’m a Private Detective, I work in Denmark Street. Mrs. Cunliffe and I met on March 2010, when she was sent to my office by a Temporary Solutions agency to which I had asked for an assistant. That was Mrs. Cunliffe’s job with me. The day she came, she had gotten engaged just hours before to Mr. Cunliffe,” Strike said very politely. “So I immediately saw the ring in her hand and it was clear from the start that she was taken. I had literally left my fiancée the night before, so I wasn’t interested anyway. Therefore, our relationship was strictly boss-employee, until with time it developed into friendship and every once in a while we’d grab a drink together. She didn’t have friends in London so it was good for her too. I’m also a decade older than her so I guess our relationship became a bit older brother, younger sister, given the risk of our job we adopted a protective figure towards the other and we cared for each other, so when we resolved Lula Landry’s murder case and her murderer, John Bristow, came to my office and tried to kill me, it was Robin who saved my life by arriving in the right moment, and she gave me first aid care wrapping up a big wound I had in my arm with her own scarf. Therefore after that we did grow pretty close, but just friendship,” Strike declared. “Our relationship was strictly professional in the office, more friendly outside, and it has remained like that. We got to investigate writer Owen Quine’s murder, and she played an essential part on that, she had already proven her worth to me so I valued her services and sometimes let her tag along. I was sort of training her to be more than an assistant and once that case was resolved, I paid her a surveillance course. She came back as my junior partner, sort of, although she still did assistant duties purely because she was good at it and I wasn’t. Robin didn’t seem to mind and I paid her as much as I could afford. It was during that time that I met Mr. Cunliffe and I was invited to their wedding, about a year ago. By then, Robin and I had become good friends, an inevitable consequence when we did spend many hours together daily, even though they had started to shorten because we were out most of the day separately investigating our different cases, so we weren’t really together most of the time her husband thought we were. And Robin is a charming, kind person, so it wasn’t hard to like her and befriend her, but I got romantically and sexually involved with other woman, she was in love with her fiancé, and there was never the slightest of hints for something else to happen between us. It didn’t even cross my mind,” Strike forgave himself for lying a little there and Robin looked away.

“What happened during that famous trip outside the city, did you...?” Ilsa shrugged.

“Oh, God, no. I was dating someone,” Strike didn’t like talking about his private life and even less there, but he liked less that Matthew would have any excuse to say he tried something with Robin. “It was serious. But Robin was absolutely broken at the time. I knew her for being a very organised person, mature, who didn’t bring personal drama into work, and in fact, despite our friendship, she didn’t directly come to me, not even as she had nowhere to stay the night. No asking for help or anything. I just came to the office one day, and just looking at her shocked me, she had been crying and no makeup could hide it. I asked her if she was fine, she said she was, she wanted to pretend nothing had happened, stay professional, that’s how serious she took the job. I saw there was no ring anymore and of course I worried but I thought she would eventually tell me, and I was right. That night we went to a pub and we talked and I found her a place to stay the night, a good hotel, I didn’t stay with her. Then our investigation of the Donald Laing case made it necessary for me to travel to Barrow-in-Furness, which because of its distance to London, would keep me away for at least a day or two. Problem is, the lower half of my left leg was blown off in Afghanistan, and I didn’t own a car I could drive. Robin had driven me before and she was a fantastic driver. Yes, in one occasion I made her late to Mr. Cunliffe’s mother’s funeral, but we were driving to London from freaking Devon, we had gone there solely to investigate Owen Quine’s death and it wasn’t her fault. So I let her drive me again, I knew she could use some time outside the city and we went on a little road-trip and no, I didn’t sleep with her. We got separate rooms in a hotel and nothing happened. Robin’s a very loyal person and a look to her husband and me is enough to see we have nothing in common, I’m very different from Robin’s type. She wasn’t attracted to me, I wasn’t to her. Just to make it very clear,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Matthew and his lawyer. “Nothing happened during that trip aside from doing some confidential investigation, Robin had a serial killer after her, we were too preoccupied to care about nothing else.”

“What’s your honest opinion of Mrs. Cunliffe? I mean you hired her for a reason...” Strike nodded.

“Robin was impressive from the first hour she was in the job, she dropped my jaw constantly with her efficiency, hard-working, devotion to her job. She was always steps ahead of me planning and organising everything. Like I said when she came I had just left my fiancée, I was living in my office and in a really shitty situation,” Lucy narrowed her eyes at her brother for having lied to her. “When she came my ex had literally just left and the whole place was a mess because the woman had come all angry and threw my things all over the place. Robin didn’t say a word, she went, organised everything, cleaned like no other assistant had, left the office spotless. Then she picked up how I like to have the files organised without my intervention, stored everything in its place, got tea, coffee, mugs... things that until she came, my office lacked,” said Strike full of honesty. “And offered them to the clients we had, which had never even occurred to me. She was impressive, still is. And then she goes, proves to be observant, bright and smart... I literally had to ask her why was she working as a temp when she’s brilliant,” Robin blushed. “She had all the qualities of a good detective, and she left it clear very soon to me that she was worth way more than an assistant. Robin actively intervened in my cases, all of them, with brilliant ideas, solutions, suggestions... I started letting her come every now and then when I had to go to crime scenes and investigate, and she showed off as a very efficient person, with important contributions to my investigations. I discovered she had studied psychology and started letting her help me analyse certain things with such knowledge. And then as a person...” Strike sighed and shrugged. “Robin is the bravest, strongest woman I know,” Robin blushed harder, looking down with wet eyes. “She’s selfless, empathetic... she offers tea and hugs to the people that come into the office crying and hysterical because their partners cheated or their husbands were killed. When I was at my worst, she made sure I ate, accompanied me back to the office to sleep, never commented on my homelessness. When I’ve been drunk, she’s given me paracetamol, no comments. When I’ve been hurt, she’s taken care of it. Once we were investigating outside, I fell, and hurt my leg. I couldn’t walk and you’ve seen our size difference, well, Robin put my arm around her so I’d use her for support, helped me reach a place to sit down, went and bought me a cane, insisted I’d take a taxi. She doesn’t humiliate you, she’s delicate, she knows how to say things without hurting feelings... and even when I’m rude, which sometimes I am because I lack her delicacy, she doesn’t hold grudges. She’s understanding and kind, the kindest, and she wouldn’t hurt a fly,” Strike’s voice had gotten sad and he looked down. He found himself surprised by an immense feeling of utter sadness and anger, because Robin didn’t deserve what happened to her. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. “Robin never judges, never insults, and always comes to the office with a smile and a cheerful good-morning. She’s passionate and always wants to help everyone, and gets mad at me when I don’t care for someone’s well-being as hard as she does. She’s always polite and respectful, ask anyone, and she’s funny too. She can make me smile even when I’m in my moodiest. Robin doesn’t deserve this hell. She’s too purely good for this fucking world full of fucking cunts who treat her wrong. She’s my best friend, and I wish I could’ve protected her from ever getting hurt.”

As surprised as Strike was for his sudden sadness, so was everyone else when he sniffled loudly and brushed his eyes, looking down. Ilsa’s eyes widened at him and waited for a moment to let him compose himself, while she herself composed after seeing her best friend like that. Her own eyes had gotten teary and she looked at Robin, whose eyes were fixed on Strike, a tear silently falling from her eye. Robin didn’t know Strike cared so highly for her and thought so highly of her.

“Mr. Strike...” Ilsa finally said. Strike looked up and seemed composed, although his eyes were still glassy. He nodded in encouragement as if saying ‘I’m fine, just go on’. “You’ve met Mr. Cunliffe before, right?”

“Yes. Robin insisted I’d met him so maybe he would like me or something and don’t be so hard on her anymore. She didn’t say, but I’m a detective, I know things,” said Strike. “So a year ago, we went and had a drink, the three of us. I was late, as Mr. Cunliffe recalls, because I had work before and it took me longer than expected. Then we also met after Donald Laing attacked Robin, we crossed paths at the hospital briefly.”

“And what’s your impression of him?”

“He pretty much ruined it from second one. Literally, one of the first things I said to him, was asking how long had he and Robin been together. Robin cheerfully said since school, and Matthew then goes and says he didn’t have much of a choice because Robin was the only fit girl with half a brain in the school,” said Strike. Robin was satisfied to see the judge scowl. “I immediately deemed him worthless of her and he never improved my opinion, certainly not when Robin told me what he had done, sleeping with someone else. I thought he was disgusting, still do.”

“Did you ever have a confrontation with him?”

“He talked to me with roughness every time we crossed paths and I knew he despised me, but we didn’t row or anything. I respected Robin too much to tell her what I truly thought of him and always said he was okay. Robin gave me the feeling that she needed for me to approve Matthew.”

“So, Mr. Strike...” Ilsa shifted weight from one leg to another. “What happened on October 9th?”

“You mean 10th? Strike asked.

“No, 9th. Mrs. Cunliffe’s birthday. Did her husband forget?”

“Oh,” Strike nodded. “I don’t exactly know. Robin looked sad at the office, wasn’t her normal self. I gave her a present and that cheered her up, she had forgotten her own birthday and was touched I hadn’t. Then we went out for lunch, with some friends, she had a confrontation with Charlotte Ross, my ex-fiancée,” explained Strike. “Robin had heard from my sister and my friends and briefly from myself bits of how rocky my relationship had been and some shit Charlotte did to me, that caused me to leave her, and Robin told me I no longer had to stand her, asked me for permission to care for the matter, sort of saying, when we were just sitting talking and Charlotte appeared out of the blue and walked straight to me. Robin stood up in the middle to defend me and yes, they ended roughly, but in Robin’s defence, Charlotte insulted my dead mother and Robin is very protective of her friends. Mr. Cunliffe didn’t appear, didn’t call her at least in front of us to congratulate her, nothing. My friends and I’s birthday present had been planning a romantic night for Robin and her husband, so they met then, dinner and a musical Robin wanted to see.”

“So you organised a romantic night for Robin and her husband. Not Robin and you. Dinner and a musical, even thought your economy isn’t very good right?”

“No, Robin and her husband. I had sensed Robin seemed to be struggling for a few days, Robin was finding excuses to stay working longer hours... I thought they were rowing again... I wanted for her to be happy at home so...” Strike shrugged. “I asked my friends help to pay it off. I thought Robin was worth it all. I figured if they had a romantic night, they’d fix their issues and Robin would be happy again.” Robin smiled sadly at him.

“Mr. Strike, what happened the next day?”

“I woke up to a text of Robin asking if she could take the Monday off because Mr. Cunliffe had called in sick at work to compensate her and spend the day together, celebrating her birthday. I texted saying it was fine and wishing her a good day,” explained Strike. “As partners, since we divide our clients, we let each other know if we’re not coming and ask permission, see if the other can take our work for a day. Robin had worked extra hours and weekends voluntarily for ages, so there was no problem. About a couple hours later I was with a client when I received a call from her and I thought it was strange, because she was supposed to be having fun, not working. I answered and I heard distinct noises of fight. I called her name, she didn’t answer, and I heard shouting from a male. I couldn’t understand what they said and I worried, so I took a taxi to their flat. I didn’t know what was going on or where they were, which is why I didn’t call the police from the start, I went to their flat thinking they wouldn’t be there and if they weren’t, then I’d plan something else. I pressed my ear to the door and heard shouting. The door was locked, but I know how to manipulate locks given my military training, so I opened it and Robin’s neighbour appeared, asking the hell was happening because he heard the noise. I told him to call police and an ambulance, thinking Robin could be hurt, and rushed inside. I heard Mr. Cunliffe shout ‘fucking bitch, look what you made me do’, and saw him leaning over Robin, who was on the floor, with a fist in the air. Before he could touch her, I grabbed him and threw him against a wall,” Strike explained, narrowing his eyes at Matthew. “I saw he was coming back, so I punched him, broke his jaw. Then he fell to the floor and seemed to stay there, groaning, so I knew he was fine, and I focused on Robin. She was on the floor wrapped up in a bed-sheet, nude, while he had been on his boxers. I leaned over Robin, tried to get her to talk to me, and saw the left side of her face, around the eye, was swollen and purple, and she had bruises and marks of grabbing in her arm. I noticed she couldn’t breathe. She was gasping like a fish out of the water, it was horrific,” Strike told trying to stay calm, although he was repressing an urge to get up and kill Matthew. “I examined her, saw her ribs, put two and two together and knew what was happening, so I sat down and pulled her to use me as the back of a chair, for support, made sure she wasn’t chocking on her tongue, tried to soothe her with words and help her breathe. She was in a lot of pain and barely aware of my presence, and she coughed blood. There was also blood on her head. The emergency services came, and took care of the situation.”

“Was Mrs. Cunliffe under a bookshelf?”

“No. Next to one that was on the floor.”

“Where was her phone, with which she called you?”

“On the floor next to the bed.” Strike explained.

“Did the room look like a fight had happened?”

“Absolutely,” Strike nodded.

“Did you ever think Robin had done it?”

“Never. Always knew it was Matthew. I know he beat her up.”

“Did you ever know Robin was suffering as much as she’d said at home?”

“If I had known, I would’ve been the one judged for beating someone up, and Matthew would be in the hospital,” Strike sentenced. “I didn’t even know he had manipulated her mobile. I had no idea. Like I said, Robin really tried for me to like Matthew, didn’t like bringing her dramas to work or to my life.”

When Mr. Rawlings got up to interrogate Strike, Strike narrowed his eyes at him with anger.

“Mr. Strike, for someone who has such a high opinion of Robin, you fired her, didn’t you?”

“Not for something she did,” Strike said. Robin frowned, trying to see if he was lying. As far as she knew, she was fired for Brockbank. Rawlings snorted a laugh.

“What?”

“I was trying to catch a serial killer and came up with a plan to do so. For it to be successful, I had to fire Robin so the serial killer would think she no longer worked for me, lose interest in her, and go after my bait. It had nothing to do with Robin’s actions. I have nothing to hide, it’s all in the police files of that case.” Strike answered calmly. Robin’s jaw fell and Strike gave her an apologetic glance. Rawlings narrowed his eyes at him.

“But Mr. Cunliffe is a witness of how angry you came to their house to fire Robin.”

“I was furious because she did something work related,” said Strike. “But I wasn’t exaggerating one bit when I was talking about how highly I think of Robin and how much she means to me. I knew she deserved to be chastised but she is a civilian, a junior partner, and is still learning, so I knew she deserved a second chance. It did, however, give me a perfect excuse to fire her and go on with my plans, and I took it. I wasn’t going to fire her for that just like that, judging her like a soldier. I knew I hurt her badly with that, so when the case was closed and I knew she was finally safe, I went to her wedding to fix things.”

“Despite you not being invited...”

“Robin gave me an invitation,” Strike argued. “I never knew Matthew had forbid me there. I would’ve been there anyway though, she’s my best friend and she wanted me there.”

After that, it became a competition to talk shit of either Robin or Matthew and see who was worse and who was better. Matthew’s sister said Robin was unstable and a bad wife, Robin and Matthew’s neighbour said before such fight he had been hearing Matthew shouting for a long time, and Robin just shouted back sometimes, but much less, and he also said they rowed all the time, and Matthew always shouted the loudest, and the meanest things, giving some examples. Lunch time came and the judge asked for two hours for lunch and for the jury to make a decision.


	14. Let's get out of here

Exiting the courtroom, Robin rushed to Strike and hugged him without another word. He smiled sadly at her and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head as she mumbled thanks into his chest for all he had said. During lunch, Robin leaned onto his shoulder, tired, and Strike didn’t argue, letting her do her thing as they all had lunch in a place near the courtroom. There were words of encouragement for Robin and compliments for Ilsa. Nick seemed to have fallen in love all over again and looked at Ilsa with adoration, and Strike couldn’t help but keep thinking that was what he wanted for Robin.

“Can’t they just email the results?” Robin murmured jokingly. “I’m dying for a nap.” Ilsa snorted a laugh, shaking her head.

“At least we know we won,” Ilsa commented.

“Do we?” Rupert, Robin’s friend, asked.

“We had won the moment the medical examiner spoke. The rest was pure icing to the cake,” said Ilsa.

“How’s your head and your lungs?” asked Strike softly, looking down at Robin.

“My head hurts some, but my lung is being a champion,” Robin smiled weakly at him. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“I’ll always worry. You’re my friend.” Robin grinned, squeezing his thigh.

Back into the courtroom, the verdict was heard and Matthew was found guilty of physical, emotional and mental abuse.

“Although if it was up to me Mr. Cunliffe would be going to prison for a long time, but Mrs. Cunliffe has, through her lawyer, insisted to request no more than six months if it came to prison time,” the judge said. Robin’s family and friends looked to her in surprise and Robin sat still. “So therefore, I order for Mr. Cunliffe to go to prison right away for six months without a possibility to be bailed out, without being allowed to receive visits, weekend permissions or anything, simply locked down in isolation to think of what he’s done,” the judge, a black woman who looked strict, narrowed eyes at Mr. Cunliffe, who gulped and looked down. “You’re lucky your wife has a kind heart. I also order you carry with the costs of Mrs. Cunliffe’s medical and mental care after this, and that you pay for any legal expenditures such as her lawyer for today, plus a compensation of thirty thousand pounds for all the prejudices caused. Lastly, you’ll have a restraining order, for which I forbid you to be at less than five kilometres from your wife or her family.”

“But your honour, my client’s hometown is the same as Mrs. Cunliffe and is too small to respect...” Rawlings said.

“Then Mr. Cunliffe won’t be allowed into Masham, that’s not my problem,” the judge said, to Matthew’s widening eyes. “This restraining order will last for as long as Mr. Cunliffe lives. The divorce agreement will therefore have to be mediated by their lawyers. You’re all free to go home now.”

Robin stood up and fixed eyes on Matthew, who looked at her with widening eyes while hers were glassy. She knew she would never be so close to him again, so she stared at him until police took him away.

**. . .**

Dinner that night was quiet. Nick and Ilsa cooked some spaghetti with cheese sauce and bacon and they all had dinner at their house. Robin was the first to leave the table, going to sleep in the spare bedroom upstairs. Strike wasn’t planning on staying until late, since he had to be up early for work, but he spent some time with Robin’s family and then, after what he had considered enough time, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and went upstairs, even though the bathroom was downstairs and upstairs there were only two-en suite bathrooms, one in the master bedroom and another in Robin’s. He walked to Robin’s room, seeing it closed but seeing light from under the door.

He raised a hairy hand and knocked on the door.

“It’s open,” a voice from inside said, sounding hoarse and small. Strike opened the door and let himself inside, closing behind him.

The room wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t bad at all. Strike knew it well because he had slept there a few times, yet it seemed new now that Robin inhabited it. While Strike had never contributed to change anything in the room, leaving it as impersonal as his own attic now was, Robin had hung the cork he had gifted him on one wall, right beside a photo of Robin as a child posing with a huge horse and her uncle, at her uncle’s farm in Masham. The little kid was grinning to the camera with a toothless grin and Strike felt his lips automatically move to form a little smile at that. The only light from the room came from a small lamp on the night-stand, on which a photo of Robin’s last birthday stood, Strike standing right behind Robin, after Charlotte had left them and the night had gotten even better. All of them had been drunk by then, laughing with nothing and then playing darts. There was also a photo of Robin with her family years previously, and a detective’s book, the same Strike had brought her. The bed was made and had a blue-gray duvet that reminded Strike of Robin’s eyes, with the big teddy bear occupying half the width of the bed, and there was a big closet, a wide and short bookshelf, a desk and an armchair. Over the desk Robin had placed her laptop and a few notebooks, her medicines in a corner, a picture of Robin’s birthday, when the group had sang happy birthday to Robin as the red-blonde haired smiled at a cake with twenty-seventh candles, and the Mashamite sat on the armchair by the one big window, glass covered in raindrops and the views of the back garden, contemplating him with a relaxed expression, glassy eyes, and blushed cheeks.

Strike found her the most beautiful like that, wearing a green, big t-shirt, loose and with ‘Yorkshire’ written on front, her hair loose and dishevelled, her pants some loose, plaid gray pyjama pants. She was barefoot and hugged her knees with her feet on the armchair.

“I thought you’d be sleeping,” Strike commented, moving to sit on the bed, in front of her. He was like a horse between bunnies, huge in a delicate ambient that smelled of Robin’s perfume the same way her flat had. Robin shrugged, using a tissue to clean her nose.

“I thought of it, but the views are good. I lived in a ground floor, I’ve never had these views of London at night before,” Robin said with a soft, hoarse voice. She had been crying.

“Now you could move to somewhere like this, when Matthew gives you the money,” Strike commented, looking around. “Get a tower. London’s best views,” Robin snorted a laugh, and Strike fixed his eyes on her, feeling a pit in his stomach at the sight of her so crestfallen. “Do you wanna go somewhere?” he asked daring.

“I’m tired for pubs now, Cormoran,” Robin smiled sadly at him.

“I don’t mean now,” Strike let a breath out. “When my mum died, I wanted to get out. Not necessarily out of Oxford or out of England, although I did that, but you know... out of the places that reminded me what had happened. I was thinking, since you only came to London for Matthew and he proposed to you in damn Picadilly Circus and all, that maybe you’d want to get out for a while. Somewhere Matthew hasn’t been. You were happy when we went to Barrow-in-Furness, maybe we could go on another road-trip somewhere fun.”

Robin contemplated him for a moment as she considered her options, touched. She could see he had absolutely no idea how to help and what to do, so he was going back to the memories he had of her truly happy and trying to find out how to bring it back. At that moment, Robin wanted to laugh on the face of everyone who took Strike as a scary Doberman when, like Dobermans, Strike was in reality a sweetie in a strong body.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” said Robin sincerely. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“St. Mawes,” Strike blurted out before he could think about it. Robin raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Didn’t you mention once you have never seen Cornwall? St. Mawes is nice. We can go to the beach, kayaking, go in my uncle’s boat and I can show you the sea... you don’t have that in Masham. And the air is so pure, good for your lungs. You can take my sister’s room in my Uncle Ted and Aunt Joan’s house, I’m sure she won’t mind, she adores you...” Robin smiled. It sounded like a dream and she thought she’d like that very much.

“It sounds lovely,” Robin admitted. “Why would you leave somewhere like that?” Strike grinned.

“Not enough pubs,” Robin laughed openly. “Did you know you have a pretty laugh?” he added on impulse. Robin raised her eyebrows and he blushed. “I mean... I met a girl once who laughed like a scary movie, gave me all the chills...” a grin crept into Robin’s face. “But yours is nice.”

“Thanks. So... how cold is it in St. Mawes now?”

“Way warmer than here, I can assure you.”

“What about work?” Strike shrugged.

“If our clients leave us and we go broke I take the armchair?” Strike joked, and this time, Robin’s laugh resonated loudly. Strike grinned at her.

“When are we leaving?” Robin finally asked when the laughter subsided.

“My birthday’s on Wednesday, the week after the next,” said Strike. “We can work a little this week, wrap up some more cases, and then leave next Monday, stay a couple weeks?” Robin nodded.

“Deal,” Robin shrugged. “In compensation, I offer you to come to Masham next month. Stephen’s wedding, I need a new plus one.” She commented blushing. Strike chuckled.

“And eat for free?” said Strike. “Yay!” he raised his fists like a kid and Robin laughed again. Strike found himself addicted to that sound. They fell into a comfortable silence and after a while, Strike stood up and pointed to the bed. “Come on, get into bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

“What?” Robin side smiled, amused.

“I’ll tuck you in, come on... oh, don’t give me that face, everyone loves being tucked into bed,” Strike rolled eyes and Robin, surprised and touched, got up and into bed. Like a child, she hugged her teddy bear and Strike smiled sweetly at her, adjusting the duvet around her and tucking her in. “Alright, now... I guess this’ll do.” Strike took the book on Robin’s night-stand and opened it on his knees, finding the page marker. Robin snuggled and looked at him attentively, amused, and Strike cleared his throat and started reading.

Strike ended up getting caught up in the book and continued reading until, around an hour later, there was a knock on the door and Ilsa pecked inside, with a little smile.

“Everyone is leaving,” Ilsa whispered. “What are you doing here, creep?” Strike looked at her like a deer caught in head lights.

“Oh I was just helping Robin...” he looked down and smiled, seeing Robin slept peacefully snuggled up with her teddy bear. “Never mind...” putting the marker into the book, Strike left it on the night stand. “Goodnight, little bird.” Strike whispered, before leaning to press his lips against her forehead.

Strike then stood and rolled eyes at Ilsa’s knowing smile, mumbling a good-night before walking back downstairs.

 


	15. Stonehenge

The week passed in a blur. Since Robin wasn’t cleared by her doctor to drive, Strike rented a dark-blue, modern, automatic Honda-Civic, and when the day came, they stuffed inside their things. Robin had kept an eye on the weather of St. Mawes and interrogated Ilsa through every dinner about St. Mawes, to surprise Strike with her knowledge and prepare in advance.

The pair left on a rainy Monday morning, before six so they could be in St. Mawes by lunchtime. Robin was curious to see how good of a driver Strike was, expecting quality driving, since she knew he was very demanding of his drivers. Robin had prepared a travelling playlist and set it on as Strike drove away from Octavia Street, Nick and Ilsa waving them farewell at their house’s doorstep, still in their pyjamas, crossing the Thames and driving through Fulham and Hammersmith, towards Heathrow Airport.

“Can’t wait to get there,” Robin commented contentedly as she looked through the window like an excited child, as Strike drove expertly down the M3 and new sights appeared into Robin’s eyesight. “How long has it been since you were there last?” Robin asked then, turning to look at Strike, who looked at the road in relaxed concentration, both hands on the steering wheel, no GPS needed. His dark short hair, full of thick curls, looked as much of a mess as always, but Robin had to recognize he had good quality, strong hair; at almost thirty-seven, it showed no signs of receding the way Nick’s had. His beard, despite having probably been shaved earlier, was already growing back, stubble covering his face in the aspect of a dark shadow, and his nose, broken several times, looked to stand in his face strongly, like a bust of a Roman soldier.

“I was there last Christmas,” answered Strike, who looked pretty awake despite having probably woken up at five, if not earlier. “Would you like to stop for a break in a couple hours or so? I calculate we could stop by Stonehenge, you’ve never seen those right?” Robin’s eyes lightened up.

“Stonehenge? Cool!” she grinned. Strike smiled at her enthusiasm, shooting her a quick glance, that was enough for him to confirm she looked, albeit reasonably tired, happier.

An hour later, as green trees crowded on each side of the M3, Strike smirked as he glanced at Robin and saw her humming to the pleasant music in the car while holding her phone near the window and then grinning with her tongue between her teeth as she took a picture of the countryside.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Strike commented cheerfully. He was already dreaming with sailing in Ted’s boat. He wondered then, all of the sudden, with a pang in the stomach, if he could still do that. Strike’s only trip to Cornwall without his lower leg had been in Christmas, when he hadn’t been interested, with the snow, in participating in any of those activities he now thought about and hadn’t even worried about them, and suddenly, all the thoughts he had been having of swimming in the beach, playing ball with Robin on the sand and kayaking, were dismembered like he was before his eyes, his smile vanished and he turned crestfallen. He wouldn’t be able to do those things, none of them. Kayaking and beach were over for him. Sailing would just be highly complicated. Now, Strike regretted driving Robin there, where he would have to leave her alone to do most things.

“It is,” Robin grinned, still looking through the window, oblivious to the knot growing in Strike’s stomach. “Why don’t you come more often? I can’t imagine not seeing Masham more than once a year...” feeling as if Robin might look at him and see his panic and sadness, he looked briefly through his own window, clearing his throat, and shrugged.

“I was too busy with work in the army, and then I was too busy with work in the office, or otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to sustain the business,” Strike confessed.

“Oh...” Robin nodded. “Sometimes I forget our age difference. You say four or five years, and to me that’s Uni. Long before I had to worry for taxes that much.” The comment came with an air of innocence and lightness, as if to break any sudden, possible tensions arise by sort of making fun of herself.

“Yeah, I’m old...” Strike smirked. “When you were born I was a teenager already. I could’ve babysat you.” Robin giggled.

“I thought you were forty when we first met,” Robin commented humorously, blushing, and Strike forgot about his own preoccupations for a moment, laughing.

“Cheers, Robin,” he said. “Can’t blame you though. I look fifty.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” giggled Robin. “You don’t have a single grey hair, most people your age do. And you don’t seem to be going bald as Nick is. If you ate properly, got fit and slept more, you could look thirty.” Strike giggled.

“If I did all of that, I wouldn’t have time to work and we’d be broke within a week,” Robin rolled eyes, but smiled nonetheless. The drive was virtually boring now, with forest at both sides of the M3 and Strike keeping the car in one lane of the busy road, and Strike could allow himself to relax more into Robin’s humming. The car was pretty nice and comfortable and smelled of new, which made things easier. “I wasn’t always so unfit though...” Strike commented then, for his own ego.

“I know,” Robin smirked. “You were a _soldier_. Still are, in some way.” Strike nodded.

“I had a six-pack, once,” added Strike, in a spontaneous need to look like an exemplar male to the now single female. His tone was, however, so comically, that Robin snorted a laugh.

“Did you?” Strike nodded with a chuckle.

“For a week. Then the store down my flat started bringing this new, chocolate ice-cream that was to die for. I decided a six-pack wasn’t worth it,” Robin was laughing loudly even before the sentence was over, and her laugh resonated in the car and eliminated all knots in his stomach for a good while, making Strike chuckle. “How do you like your ice-cream?” he asked suddenly.

“Pistachio and chocolate,” Robin answered. Strike nodded, satisfied.

“Good taste.”

At the monuments in Stonehenge, Robin hallucinated. She kept going like ‘but look, Cormoran, is almost as big as you!’ while pointing at them, and Strike laughed looking at her, excited like a kid, and happy.

“Stand there, let me take a picture,” Strike offered, holding up his phone.

“Wait!” Robin approached a middle-aged woman who looked innocent. “Excuse me, I’m Robin, would you mind taking a picture of me with my friend Cormoran?” the woman seemed content to do so, and Robin pulled Strike for a picture, posing next to the monuments, smiling at the camera. 

Strike could sense the walls between them falling, their distance growing and their relationship becoming far too close for colleagues and, as much as this terrified Strike and made his stomach uneasy, he found, as he stared at Robin devouring a brownie as if it was her last meal, humming approvingly and licking her fingers without caring one bit to be an elegant lady, that he wasn’t that willing to change the situation, and swiftly drank his black coffee.

“Hi, Joan,” Strike answered his mobile as they walked back to the car. “We’re at Stonehenge taking a break, just getting back in the car.”

“Alright, when should we be expecting you?”

“With this traffic... I’d say by half past twelve or one in the afternoon,” said Strike, sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Your uncle was saying we could have lunch in the boat, take Robin to see Falmouth, yes? We could have dinner somewhere there. Do you think Robin’ll fancy that?” Joan was always motherly and preoccupied for everyone’s well being and Strike smiled, nodding. He looked at Robin, who was staring at the little St. Mawes’ guide Nick had gifted her, as Ilsa had done with him once, and reading with interest.

“Sure,” said Strike. “We’re going to start driving now, see you in a bit...”

“Drive safe!”

“So,” Strike started the engine, taking the A303 towards Exeter, and looked briefly at Robin, “fancy lunch in a sailing boat?” Robin’s eyes widened, looking at him as if he was joking.

“You’re joking...” Strike shook his head with a smile.

“Uncle Ted owns a small sailing boat, he offered to take us to Falmouth. We’ll have lunch on board and then explore Falmouth, show you the city before we grab dinner somewhere there and head back home. Unless that you’re scared of the ocean or something...” Robin grinned.

“I have never sailed in my life! It’s so exciting! Thanks!” Robin said cheerful. Strike nodded with a little smile. “How old are your aunt and uncle?” Strike raised his eyebrows. “It’s just curiosity! They can’t be old if they can still take care of a boat, right? And you’re thirty-seven... are they like, seventy? Because doing so much at that age is astonishing.”

“Sixty,” Strike answered with a side smile, pressing the accelerating pedal softly. “Although they stay young, they probably will be doing the same things in twenty years.” Robin smiled.

“You’re lucky to have them. I’m only that close with my uncle the farmer.” Strike nodded.

“Ted is my mother’s older brother, by a couple years. You’ll recognize him right away because we’re basically twins, just an older version.” Robin snorted a laugh.

“Do you have any cousins?” Strike shook his head.

“No, Ted and Joan never had any children. Well, my mum was only twenty-two when I was born, and Ted and Joan have always been sort of Lucy and I’s surrogate parents, so I guess they never felt like having any children when they were taking care of two during their twenties.”

“Wow,” Robin frowned lightly. “Poor things, so young and having to deal with a sister’s adventures.” Strike nodded.

“At least we were very well-behaved children. We never got in trouble.”

“Yeah, sure,” Robin snorted a laugh, incredulous. “You totally got in fights in school, as if I saw it...” Strike laughed.

“I really didn’t. Ask them, I was always well-mannered and civilised. Very organised too, clean.” Robin looked surprised.

“Really?”

“Why is it so surprising?”

“Come on, you and trouble are best friends, like Siamese brothers...” Robin giggled and he smiled, amused.

“Well I was very neat, I always did what I had to do, behaved, took care of my sister, didn’t get in trouble... if I wanted to hit someone, I had boxing. That tames you like a kitten, leaves you all tired and innocent,” Robin chuckled at him, imagining a worn out Strike, twenty years younger, too exhausted to cause trouble after boxing. “I helped home, cleaned my room and what wasn’t mine because I’ve always hated disorganisation and messes... just like my uncle, you’ll see. I’d take my sister outside and entertain her, I’d help cooking, studied hard, did my homework... I was very hardworking.”

“You were an adult-child.”

“A what?”

“An adult-child. A responsible grown adult in the body of a child.” A that, Strike had to laugh.

“Okay so what were you?” he asked, amused, when the laughter subsided, looking at a cheerful Robin.

“I was the polar opposite,” Robin chuckled. “I mean, I was a good kid. But I was the good kid who secretly gets into trouble and still manages for everyone to see her like an angel.” Strike laughed.

“How so?”

“My older brother, Stephen, was a nuisance and he corrupted me,” Robin giggled, making him snort a laugh. “We’d fight with wooden swords around my uncle’s farm, do horse-riding and pretend to be King Arthur’s knights,” Strike smiled, amused, as he imagined Robin on a horse with a sword, a tiny but ferocious child.

“Didn’t you want to be a princess?”

“Only if it was a warrior princess. I wanted to be brave, strong. I’d break any rules I considered stupid, not many though. Just things like... jumping over fences, because I thought it was absurd that I couldn’t access a zone of my countryside just because a signal said so.” Strike snorted a laugh. “And I was a bit disorganised, but methodical. I knew where everything in my mess was, had it controlled. Didn’t always get my best marks, didn’t always work as hard as I could have, but school tended to bore me. I liked to learn whatever called my attention in the moment, which wasn’t always what the programme said.”

“And yet you got into University.” Robin nodded.

“That I did.”

“What did your parents do for a living?” Strike asked, curious. Robin could find his life in Wikipedia, but he couldn’t with her.

“My parents are in their late fifties, they still work,” Robin cleared, smirking. “Mum was a general surgeon in York.”

“Wow! Badass...” Robin chuckled.

“Took a lot of her time though, so when Martin was about one, and I was... four, she retired. She wanted to spend time with us, not have us be at my uncle’s farm most of the time,” Robin explained. “And my father teaches history in the comprehensive where I studied.”

“No farming for him?” Robin shook her head.

“My parents like the countryside and they do know a lot about farms because one of my grandparents had one, they help my uncle sometimes, but they wanted normal jobs. My mum does work a lot in the farm now though, is more like a family business. Martin works there too, my uncle pays him a little so he can emancipate someday.”

“Still lives with your parents?”

“Yeah. And Jon just graduated University,” Robin explained. “But he’s already got a good job and should be leaving the house soon. Sooner than Martin for sure.” She smiled thinking of her brothers.

“I like your brothers,” Strike commented spontaneously, driving near Sparkford. “They really care about you, you know? All they could think of after they knew you were okay in the hospital was killing Matthew.”

“Yeah, that fits my brothers’ personalities. We are in general very protective of each other, close,” Robin commented, her eyes fixed on the window. “I’d kill for them probably.”

“I’ll pretend I never heard that in case I’m ever asked in a courtroom,” Strike joked, and Robin laughed hard.

 


	16. Arriving to St Mawes

Strike noticed Robin had fallen asleep against her window shortly before entering Exeter and, by the time they reached St. Mawes, she had stirred and was drooling over his shoulder instead. He had no means of stopping her, even though the feeling made his heart accelerate, his stomach forget how hungry he was, and he had moved the rear-view mirror so he could see her, which was highly irresponsible.

Once the car was parked in front of Strike’s family’s house, Strike sat in the car looking down at Robin. She seemed so innocent he couldn’t understand why someone would hurt her.

“Robin...” he tried, softly. “Little bird, wake up, we’ve arrived.”

“Shup...” Robin murmured in her sleep, instead of ‘shut up’. Strike chuckled and caressed her cheek. That was dangerous territory, he couldn’t do that, nor focus on the smoothness of her skin, warm and soft against his cold, calloused big fingers.

“Wake up, Robin,” Strike said more firmly, putting his hand on her shoulder and palming softly. “Wake up!” Robin finally opened her eyes and yawned, making Strike break into chuckle, rubbing her eyes.

“Whaaat?”

“We’ve arrived,” Strike repeated. Robin sat straight and looked around scowling, before assimilating the information and grinning.

“We’re here! Oh it’s so pretty!” Robin chuckled, then saw her saliva on Strike’s shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry, I...” She cleaned it sloppily with her sleeve.

“Don’t worry, it’s alright. Come on, I’m truly hungry,” Strike patted her thigh, and they got out of the car.

Ted and Joan lived in one of the tallest zones of St. Mawes, most far from the coast, which was what usually saved them every year when flooding appeared. From their house you got the excellent views of the whole town and then the end of the river and the ocean, and around the house it was all tall trees, big green bushes covered of flowers, and a couple other houses. The house was surrounded by a tall wall, separating from the street and neighbours and covered in plants and flowers, and Ted kept the fence opened, so Strike had parked his car inside, under a huge tree and beside Ted and Joan’s truck. There stood a big, two floor house, beige and stone with pretty white windows.

Leaving the car they were hit by the wind and the smell of salt and ocean, and Strike had to close his eyes and take a deep breath. Every time he came back he realized how hard he had truly missed it. Robin grinned looking around, gravel crunching under her feet as she walked to the back door of the car to get the laptop bag she had left on the backseat.

“It smells so good!” Robin commented as Strike opened the trunk to get their suitcases, one each. Strike smiled and nodded.

“Cormoran!” Ted and Joan rushed towards them.

Ted was, in fact, truly like Strike, but his hair was now mostly gray between the black, his beard was saved clean, and he had glasses. He was also, Robin observed, even less fit than Strike. On the other hand, Joan seemed a short, slightly plump woman next to her husband. Her smile and eyes were full of kindness and happiness upon seeing her nephew, and her hair was gray and braided back.

“Hi!” Strike grinned, forgetting the suitcases and walking to them. He hugged Joan first and kissed her cheek, and then hugged Ted, palming each other’s backs in a way Robin had learned that, between men, marked the difference between a manly hug and another hug. Matthew himself would’ve never hugged another man without palming his back, in case his masculinity was put in doubt. Strike and Ted, however, seemed to do it more with enthusiasm and familiarity than as a sign of their masculinity, obvious in both hairy men. Strike turned around and smiled at Robin, who formed a warm smile and walked to them. “This is Robin.”

“Hi,” Robin saluted.

“So nice to finally meet you Robin,” Ted had a deep, powerful voice, just like his nephew, and offered a big hand that Robin shook.

“I can definitely say the same,” Robin nodded. “This place is marvellous.”

“We do like it very much,” Joan smiled fondly, and pulled her into a hug. “How are you?”

“I’m better, thanks,” Robin blushed, surprised by the hug, but felt nice with it.

“Here, let me help you with that Corm,” Ted nonchalantly took Robin’s suitcase and, as if it weighted nothing, lifted it up the three steps to their front door, entering the house. Strike followed, imitating him with his own suitcase.

“Come inside honey, I prepared Lucy’s bedroom for you,” Joan put an arm around Robin, who was a couple fingers taller, and took her inside the house, closing the door behind her.

Robin looked around, her eyes wide in curiosity. Although she knew the house was old, it had been remodelled and taken care of over the years, so it kept a 90s style with freshly-painted walls and neatness everywhere. She found herself in a small hall that had a door in one side, stairs going up, and an arch that opened to what seemed like a sitting-room. Robin followed the men upstairs, and Joan was at the rear of the group. Then there was a small corridor with five doors. Two of them had cross-point names attached to them, one read ‘Cormoran’ and the other, ‘Lucy’. Ted had already opened Lucy’s, while Strike went to the other one, and Robin and Joan followed Ted and entered a big bedroom, with a big bed in the middle, a picture of Lucy and Greg in their wedding on the night stand. Ted put Robin’s suitcase on the bed and left the room.

“We’ll be downstairs when you’re ready,” said Joan kindly. “The bathroom is right outside the door, on the right, and there’s another one downstairs, by the main door, in case you need it. You can leave your toiletries in this one though; we left an empty shelf in the cabinet there for you.” Robin smiled at her, touched.

“Thank you, Mrs...” Robin realised then, she didn’t know Leda’s maiden name.

“Joan is fine,” the older woman smiled affably. “If you need anything let us know, okay? And if you’re cold or want more blankets, there are more in the closet and there’s a heater right there.” She pointed.

“Alright, thanks. I’ll be downstairs in a moment,” Joan nodded and left the room. Cormoran’s was right in front.

Robin didn’t see the point in unbuttoning her jacket if they were about to go to the boat, so she just looked around. The room was very Lucy’s. It had a window from which the views of the hills were pretty fabulous, soft blue walls, carpeted floor, a closet, a desk and an armchair, plus a small bookshelf that was mostly empty now. Robin smiled seeing a picture of younger Cormoran and Lucy, with Leda putting her arms around both of them, on the bookshelf. They were probably almost teenagers then, Lucy short and round-faced, toothless, with long blond hair braided in one side next to a tall, broad Cormoran with already hairy eyebrows and the exact same curls he had now, while Leda stood behind them, grinning widely, with marmoset eyes and long, black, shinning hair. The three were so different it was almost impossible to see they were related in the first glance. After a moment of curious observation, Robin realised the shape of Lucy’s face wasn’t so different from her mother’s heart face, her hair, although blonde, waved in the same way, and their eyes shared the shape, but Lucy was, Robin supposed, more like her dad. Strike, on the other hand, was nothing like Jonny Rokeby, and had the exact same colour of eyes her mother had, although she doubted he had noticed. As for the same, they weren’t so alike either. Robin imagined Leda and Ted had been physically quite distinct, one looking more like the father and another like the mother, and Strike’s evolution had followed the same path as Ted’s.

“Admiring the family beauty?” Strike’s voice sounded behind her. She jumped, surprised, and turned around. Strike had removed his long coat and instead wore just a thick brown jacket on top of his jumper, and instead of his classic shoes for London, he had countryside boots. He smiled kindly at her. “Sorry for the scare.” Robin walked to him.

“I assume you mean your mother,” Robin joked. “Quite a beautiful woman indeed.” Strike nodded solemnly. “Am I dressed properly for this?” Robin asked, looking at herself. Joan had presupposed she had to ‘get ready’, and Strike had in fact changed some.

Strike wished she hadn’t asked him that, because now he had to focus on her appearance and risk blushing. Robin was a sexy woman. She didn’t held the Greek Goddess beauty Charlotte had, but was sexy, had quite the curves, and was beautiful and sweet. So he looked from her makeup-less face, through her jumper and jacket, to her shoes, boots with some mud on them from walking around Stonehenge.

“If you’re comfortable and warm, you’re fine,” Strike declared.

“Let’s go then.”

They walked to St. Mawes’ Pier & Harbour, downhill against the wind. Strike looked everywhere with curious eyes but swiftly sinking back into the familiarity of the town, although the hills didn’t help his leg one bit. On the way to the pier, they’d show Robin this or that building, the primary school Strike, Lucy and Ilsa attended, and finally, the pier came to view. Robin was mesmerized with how beautiful all was, and she didn’t remember the last time she had been near the ocean.

“Hello Ted, Joan!” a man in the pier smiled and waved at them, and they waved back.

“Hi Alan!” Joan saluted.

“Jesus Christ Almighty, isn’t that little Cormoran?” the man laughed, approaching them. “Not so little anymore, uh? Where have you been man? We’ve missed you here!”

“What’s up Al?” Strike smiled at him, shaking hands. “Busy in London, that’s all.”

“We heard all about your cases here, everyone was bragging ‘Oi! Our Cormoran did it! Oi!’ and well, about...” he tentatively looked down. Strike nodded with half a smile.

“My blown-up leg, yes,” Strike said naturally. “Well this is my friend and colleague, Robin. I only resolved those cases ‘cause she did it with me, so I’m taking her down sailing as a reward for the top-class job. This is Alan, old family friend.” Robin blushed and shook Alan’s hand.

“Hi,” Robin saluted. Alan, a man in his fifties with blonde hair, looked up and down and smiled.

“You don’t look Londoner at all!” the man chuckled.

“I’m not, good eye,” Robin smiled friendly.

“Well, we better get going. Nice to see you Al, family good?”

“All good Cormoran, all good. Pleasure to meet you Robin!”

Strike and Robin rushed down the harbour after Ted and Joan, who had kept going.

“One isn’t from a small town if when they come back isn’t recognised on the street,” Robin commented humorously. “Mr. Celebrity.” Strike rolled eyes, but smiled, helping her onto the brown sailing-boat.

“Haven’t seen that man in years,” Strike explained. “Now, time for you to shine with your sailing talents,” Strike winked at her, walking behind her into the catalina sailing boat.

 


	17. Sail away

“How oxidized are you Cormoran?” Ted asked with a chuckle as he unrolled the sails.

“Oh, less than you for sure,” Strike joked, helping him with the task. Robin chuckled and sat beside Joan, accepting the life vest Joan offered.

“For security,” said Joan, fastening her own. “Cormoran sweetie, come put on your vest!”

The four sailed smoothly towards the white mass Strike indicated Robin was Falmouth. Robin grinned looking at the ocean and the fishes that swam along the boat. The ocean was green and blue, so beautiful and massive, and it smelled of salt and fish and she loved it. Matthew had always rejected sailing, it gave him nausea, but she found herself loving her first ever sailing experience, and loving to see Strike, sleeves rolled despite the cold, his curls finally moving with the wind and his arms, looking stronger and fitter and, damn, sexier, than ever, manipulating the sails.

“Is that a castle?” Robin asked, pointing to a building in St. Mawes.

“St. Mawes Castle, yes!” Joan grinned. “We’ll take you to see it. Cormoran loved it as a child.”

“And Lucy?” Robin asked with a chuckle.

“Oh, she was more a beach kind of girl, but yes,” Joan nodded.

“Alright boy, let’s slow this thing down so we can eat!” Ted pulled out a table from the depths of the catalina sailing boat, and Joan pinned a tablecloth to it. Between the two, as Strike managed the boat expertly, they pulled out a portable fridge full of Doom Bar, water, juice and soft-drinks. Robin took a coke and smiled as Ted and Cormoran toasted with a Doom Bar pretty cheerfully, and Cormoran sat beside her as his family pulled out warmth-conserver taper-wares full of food, plastic plates and all.

“Cheers Robin,” said Strike, filling her plate with enough food ‘a bit of everything’ to feed a horse. Robin smiled and didn’t complain, taking in the delicious smells. She did, however, reach to pull Strike’s sleeves down. He looked surprised and she rolled-eyes.

“If you get sick then I’ll get sick and I can’t afford that right now,” said Robin, her fingers brushing against Strike’s hairy arms giving goose bumps to both of them.

Robin took photos for most of the way, even a few candids of Strike manipulating the boat, looking so sexy Robin wasn’t sure how she was going to keep the professionalism with him after the trip. Ted even managed a selfie with the four of them.

“Does Lucy also know how to sail?” Robin asked, wondering if it was a men’s thing.

“Of course,” Ted nodded. “We raise them young, they knew how this works before they knew math,” he laughed. “My sister loved sailing too. It was something our old man did with us.” Robin nodded with a little smile.

“Don’t you have traditions like this in Masham?” Joan asked curious.

“Not really,” Robin shrugged. “Well, we do horse-riding a lot. My uncle’s got a farm and I’m very close with him, so he taught me most of what I know of the countryside.”

“Ah, farms,” Ted nodded, “nice. We’ve always been more sea people... well, except my sister. Born for the road.” Robin nodded, and looked at Strike as he hummed contently munching a piece of fish, his thick curls dancing slightly with the wind.

“So how’s the business going?” Joan asked with interest.

“It’s good,” Strike nodded. “I can finally say it’s rolling out great without exaggerating.” Robin chuckled.

“We have six, seven clients at this point,” said Robin. “Which is about as much as we can handle. And we’ve got a waiting list too.”

“Caught Laing and now what do they call us?” said Strike cheerfully, proud. “London’s best detective team. Take that, taxes.” Robin giggled. Ted chuckled happily.

“What did I always tell you, uh? Life’s hard but love and hard-work make it easy,” Joan squeezed her nephew’s cheek lovingly. “By the way, how’s it going with that girl, the Norwegian?” Strike scowled.

“Which Norwegian?” he asked. Robin was pretty sure they referred to Elin Toft, the girl Strike had been sleeping with for months.

“Lucy says,” Ted clarified. “You’ve got a girlfriend. Elin something, wasn’t it?” Joan nodded.

“A Norwegian, she said.” Joan added. Strike raised his eyebrows and nodded.

“Lucy...” Strike muttered. “Elin was just a hook-up. She’s divorced, I missed... well, sex, Jesus Christ,” he blushed. Ted laughed and Joan rolled eyes.

“Men...!” Joan chuckled at Robin, who giggled.

“Joan, come on, I don’t want a girlfriend. I haven’t been single in forever, I like it,” said Strike.

“So no chance things with Elin...?” Ted questioned.

“No, I left her,” said Strike. Robin raised her eyebrows, curious, “months ago. She wanted more and I didn’t. Besides, she has a daughter and I’m not interested in fatherhood.”

“One day,” Joan gave Robin a knowing smile, “we’ll manage for him to settle down like the almost forty-years-old man he is.” Robin giggled, but she secretly didn’t wish for Strike to find another woman. Strike rolled eyes.

“I’m still thirty-six!” Strike reminded her. “And I am not Lucy. I don’t wish for three sons and a magnolia tree.”

“Of course not, you’re just like your mother,” Ted chuckled at him.

“And what’s wrong with that?” Strike asked, carried away. “You all are always so disapproving of her lifestyle, but it wasn’t all that bad. She always did the hell she wanted and I’m happy to do the same, not settling down with a conventional life just because it’s what men my age should do according to...” Strike shrugged. “People.” Robin looked intently at him, wondering if he was genuinely upset, but he just seemed slightly bothered, a Doom Bar in a hand and chips in the other.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Cormoran,” said Ted looking serious at his nephew for emphasis. “I wasn’t saying it as criticism, just saying the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. As long as you don’t go around doing drugs, is okay, your mother was a great person and so are you.” Strike nodded, more satisfied.

“Don’t worry, my only drug is a good old fag,” Strike commented.

“Still?” Joan scowled. “I thought you left it, haven’t seen you smoke yet!”

“Only because I’m trying to keep the air pure for this girl,” Strike smiled warmly at Robin, who blushed.

“What a gentleman,” Robin joked, and Strike snorted a laugh. “I do breathe better here, though. You were right, London’s so contaminated.” Strike nodded.

“How’s that recovery then, good?” Ted asked.

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “Doctor says about two months until it feels back to normal, and it’s already been one, so by Christmas it’ll be better. Might even be divorced by then, crossing fingers.” She added, taking a sip of her coke. Strike looked at her intently, contemplating the slight parting of her hair above her left ear, were there was a scar on her head now, and the way her long neck’s skin waved as she gulped.

“Ilsa’s a good lawyer,” Joan nodded approvingly. “She was always a smart girl. Daring.”

“She was a shark in court,” Robin nodded.

“Laughed her ass off in the inside when I was called to testify, I’m sure. I saw the shadow of a laughter in her face,” Strike chuckled at the memory. Robin frowned.

“What was so funny?”

“Well, imagine having to question your best friend in a courtroom, and try to keep your face straight,” Strike chuckled. “You’ve got something in...” Strike reached to grab a white something off Robin’s hair and as they locked eyes, he blushed and she blushed, both looking away rather fast. Joan and Ted exchanged knowing smiles

**. . .**

Robin went to sleep early that night. Strike entertained himself chatting with his uncle and aunt and then slowly made his way upstairs, feeling his stump aching from all the walking all day up and down hills, and as he was about to open the door of his bedroom, he looked back at Lucy’s door and after a moment of thought, he slowly approached the door and carefully opened it just a bit, looking inside the dark room.

Smiling as he head deep, slow breathing, he opened the door a bit further to let the light from outside illuminate Robin a little, and he saw how the woman lied face up, propelled in a couple pillows to breathe better, a ring-less hand on her belly and another hugging another one of the pillows, her nose pressed against it. She looked at peace.

“Goodnight little bird,” Strike whispered before closing the door and going to his own room.

Strike was even more impersonal with the room he had in Cornwall than with his own flat, since he barely even visited it. The room was usually occupied by his nephews, who came more often, and most of its decoration came from Joan’s attempts to make it look less like their spare room. As he removed his clothes and sat on boxers to ‘put his leg to sleep’, his eyes travelled to a picture of Leda holding a newborn Strike by her chest so he’d face the camera as her lips pressed sweetly against his temple. Strike’s nose was little and even there, not yet touched by other men’s fists, and his cheeks were chubbier. Aside from that, only the many Latin and Greek books in the shelve of the small room were indicative that maybe someone lived there, along with the primary school class photo Joan had put on the wall, showing him smiling to the camera between Dave and Ilsa, with their royal blue jumpers with the school badge. Below that, was a class photo of the comprehensive school Strike and Nick had attended, with their fancy jackets and school ties.

Letting a long breath out as he felt the exhaustion of the day catch up with him, he slid into his comfortable bed and, without the energy to quite move into another position, he fell asleep.

“Morning,” Strike saluted Robin as he found her sitting, all dressed, on the entry’s stairs. He had just had breakfast and Joan had indicated him Robin was already up and about. “Early bird, aren’t you?”

“Ha, ha,” Robin chuckled as he sat beside her.

“Are you okay?” Strike asked with obvious concern. Robin nodded.

“Yeah, I just thought it seemed nice outside. Chilly, but nice,” Robin commented. Strike, who had already smoked one fag despite having no been up longer than an hour, smiled at her.

“Want to come with me? See around a bit?”

“Sure!”

 


	18. Strike's birthday

Strike took her down narrow roads crowded with people, stopping every now and then to greet someone who recognized Strike, and then they walked beside the ocean, past a small Post Office with British flags and past St. Mawes’ hotel. They were mostly in silence, save from the few comments Robin would make every now and then about something that called her attention, and Strike’s explanations of the thing in particular. They finally managed into the beach, Strike slumping slightly, but not complaining about it.

“Wanna sit there?” Robin asked, pointing to some rocks. Strike nodded and they sat there, enjoying the air and the calmness. The morning was sunny and the boats had started to exit the port to go fishing. Robin removed her shoes and sank her feet in the sand, content. “Look!” Robin pointed to a rock beside them, where two small crabs were walking around.

“Oh, lucky bastards. The kids haven’t caught them yet,” Strike commented. To Robin’s curious eyes, he added, with a chuckle. “You know, animal torture in children’s hands isn’t castigated by law.”

“Oh, poor things,” Robin frowned, looking back at the little crabs. “Did you play with them when you were little too?”

“I liked more to sit and watch them,” said Strike. “I was always curious to know what they were up to.” Robin chuckled.

“What a detective.” Strike smiled at her and nodded, looking at the boats. “Thanks for the trip, Cormoran. I needed this... just out of London and all... and the ocean does have a calming effect.” Robin commented after a while. “I slept like dead.”

“I’m glad,” Strike smiled down at her and she grinned back. He could see through her eyes that something was on her mind.

“I’ve been thinking,” Robin said finally. “You’re a detective. You probably knew Matthew was a jackass for way longer than I did, yet you never criticized him in the slightest. Why?” the words came in a relaxed tone, without accusations nor blames, just curiosity.

“If I had criticized him, Robin,” said Strike. “The only thing you would’ve earned would’ve been a headache. I didn’t consider myself one to judge someone so important for you, and it was obvious work was a safe place out of home’s arguments. Criticising him or insulting him would’ve made you feel bad, would’ve put me on a bad side if you ended up being happy with him, and besides, I trusted your judgement, always have and always will. You see the best of people and I wanted to think he was better than he seemed.” Robin nodded slowly.

“I wouldn’t trust my judgement that much though...”

“What d’you mean?” Robin sighed and shrugged. Strike pressed. “Robin...”

“It’s just,” Robin shook her head. “I spent two and a half years studying psychology, Cormoran. I’ve got my head full of psychology theories and studies, books and books of different psychology fields, I _know_ full well what Matthew was doing. Looking back it just seems like one of the countless cases we studied in university, Matthew wasn’t doing anything original, it was just step-by-step guide in abuse. Every comment, every action... it was obvious what he was doing. Yet I didn’t see it, when the signs were clear in the air from the start. It makes me feel so stupid, that’s what I meant in the hospital. I’m not you or many of those victims... I studied this. I trained hard to be able to spot the signs from a distance and help people in those situations. I wrote papers on this. And yet...” she shrugged.

Strike nodded slowly, his hands hanging between his legs, and cleared his throat.

“When I studied World War II and the professor was showing us the step-by-step guide in manipulation Hitler used, along with so many thousands of people, how everything is studied and written, how advertisement follows the same rules and all... to manipulate. To get away. To make speeches,” Strike commented. “I thought a similar thing to you. How is it possible that we study things, and have full knowledge of how they work, yet we keep falling in the same tramps time and time again? It’s like when someone puts a bait and we fall on it even though we put them too, we should know how they work. Or movies, showing the same things happening all over again... yet we keep making the same mistakes. Do you know what my professor said to that?”

“What?”

“We want to think the best of humankind,” said Strike simply. “Deep inside, we don’t want to believe people would do certain things, or that we’d fall for them. So we cheat ourselves. That’s why these things happen like when there’s a terrorist attack and everyone is horrified and thinking ‘how could they?’ even though it has happened a hundred times and we know fully-well that yes, there’s people that do those things. The universe works in patterns, Robin,” he added, to her attentive eyes. “They repeat time and time again... some people is really good at seeing them, and even they let them repeat and fall into them again, because that’s how we work. It seems very stupid... but in reality is just natural.”

“If you look at it that way...” Robin smiled a little. “Yeah... yeah, it’s right.”

“Besides,” Strike added. “Love makes us stop thinking and do the stupidest and the bravest things. Your love for Matthew knew no limits and you’re a passionate person, so your brain was always in disadvantage. I imagine your brain putting hands over its eyes like ‘I don’t want to look!’” Strike joked, giggling. Robin laughed. “I mean I get it. I’m no different...”

“I think it’s what makes us good detectives,” Robin commented, the sun making her hair shine in a way that had Strike’s eyes fixed on her. “If we weren’t so passionate, we’d give up easily. Unfortunately sometimes it backfires and we get too involved in cases and stop having a cold mind.” Strike nodded.

“You’re a great person, Robin, and a great detective,” said Strike, looking into the ocean. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. Your only crime was to see the best in people and be kind and loving, which is why he’s only six months in prison. You’re forgiving and caring, sweet... there’s nothing wrong with that. It makes you as great as you are.”

“Yet sometimes I wish I wasn’t so much like that,” Robin murmured, also looking at the ocean and the boats. “Always underestimated, always having people try to take advantage of my kindness and treat me like shit. If I could just be a bit resentful, a bit colder, a bit distrustful...”

“Just love yourself as you are even if it makes you fall in the mud sometimes, Robin. It’s easier,” said Strike firmly. “Because even if you were like that, it would have its own big disadvantages too, and then you’d wish to be as you are now.” Robin shrugged.

“I guess...” the pair sat in silence for a while and then Robin snorted a laugh. “I just realised, we’re in Cornwall, the Tintagel castle is in Cornwall, and now you’re suddenly becoming a little Merlin.” Strike laughed.

“You’re just calling me old!” Robin laughed with him.

“You know,” said Robin, when the laughter subsided. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t stay in London. I’d go back to Masham and be miserable. So t...”

“That’s what partners are for,” Strike chuckled. “Come on, want to see Tintagel?”

**. . .**

As the days in Cornwall passed and they went to Tintagel, Exeter, around St. Mawes... Robin and Strike found themselves more and more drawn to each other. Robin was finding out usually quiet and reserved Strike was full of good advice and ears to listen, and now that he wasn’t fearing they’d get dangerously close, he was more keen to that. Strike was finding out a new side of Robin, full of wishes for adventure and early morning, make-up-less, freckled smiles. The more they engaged in deep conversations or nonsensical jokes, the more they laughed together, and the more Strike opened his world to her, the harder it was to resist the temptation. They both felt it, in the air, like a magnet trying to pull them together and them trying to fight against its force.

For the first time, Strike dared to acknowledge that he was pretty attracted to Robin’s charms, and panicked as he realised letting that happen could seriously screw up their agency, and Robin started seeing him with new eyes too. He was no longer his colleague, boss, or his odd friend, but she was starting to see him as a charming, sweet and sexy man, missing him far too intensely when he wasn’t around and smiling far too frequently in his presence. She didn’t know what it was, but she thought maybe she had a little crush on her colleague and friend, who had left very clear he didn’t want a relationship or children, while she wanted a nice house, children... she didn’t want a relationship at the moment, yes, but eventually... and after analysing how much they wanted different futures, their age difference, and the terrible consequences a bad outcome of their possible romance would have, she decided to avoid anything more than just friendship with Strike at all costs.

“You just see him like this because he’s being extra kind and because you’re in a shitty situation and feeling like a rebound, silly,” Robin had told herself during a cold-shower necessary after accidentally catching a shirtless Strike doing push-ups on one leg in his bedroom. “You horny, hormonal teenager, that’s what you are...” she had murmured to herself.

What Strike didn’t know was that Robin had quite the surprise prepared behind his back for his birthday, with the collaboration of Strike’s family and his friends. It all started with insisting that he’d take her to Land’s End.

“It’s my birthday,” Strike had said as he threw a bag with water and sandwiches for the day, into the trunk, after his aunt had made what he called ‘Birthday breakfast’ that was a full English Breakfast with a few symbolic candles on the sausages and double bacon. “Shouldn’t I choose where we go today?”

“Well, don’t you wanna go to Land’s End?” Robin asked amused as she flopped into her car seat in the Honda-Civic.

“I do want to go,” Strike argued, sitting in front of the wheel and letting out such a big yawn Robin grimaced in pain when it made a suspicious noise. “I just don’t want to get up at freaking eight in the morning on my birthday. Why can’t we go later?”

“Because,” Robin reasoned, “we could take up to two hours to get there. If we go now, we’ll be there at a reasonable hour to explore before lunch. Besides, I want to be back by tea-time, your aunt made you a cake.”

“Oh,” Strike nodded, starting the engine. “How do you know?”

“Because I do talk with her,” Robin snorted a laugh. “You know, that thing some of us do...” she teased, giggling. He rolled eyes, and chuckled.

“Look who woke up snarky...”

Truth be told, Robin had woken up horny as fuck, which made the trip a little uncomfortable as she tried not to remember her dream every time she looked at Strike. She had had a dirty dream, the dirtiest of them, and Strike had been in it, fucking her against their desk as if there was no tomorrow. It had felt so real, Robin had practically jumped into a cold shower after that. She wasn’t the only one who had some issues; on one occasion, Strike had walked past her bedroom and she hadn’t noticed she hadn’t completely closed her door, firmly, so it had opened a bit with the air currents from opened windows and Strike had a perfect vision of Robin standing in just bra and pyjama pants as she changed, before he had blushed hard and looked aside. Even if it had only been a second, he had felt something move between his legs.

The drive to Land’s End seemed longer than it actually was, and ended in Robin grinning against the wind, on top of the hill, while a panting, breathless Strike tried to keep up with her. To be fair, the image of Robin jumping so happily shouting ‘WE’RE IN THE TOP OF THE WORLD!’ had been worth everything.

Strike had innocently thought Robin’s energy would worn-out by the time they went for lunch to Penance, but he had been wrong. She was worse than a child and a puppy combined and dragged Strike to all the tourist spots, museums, everything. Strike pretended to dislike it and groaned, but he had secretly loved it and Robin, despite his efforts to hide it, knew she had him wrapped around her finger.

“Ok, take me home Lancelot!” Robin said cheerfully as they got into the car again, after lunch. Strike raised an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“You are a little King Arthur’s freak, aren’t you?” Robin blushed and rose up the volume of the music.

“And you’re a freak of Catullus and I’m not complaining,” she murmured, making him laugh.

Robin had set the radio for the trip so they could catch up with the news and as they drove back towards Masham, Robin was carefree humming along to the radio to American band Lady Antebellum’s ‘She is’, doing the drums with her palms on her thighs. She no longer hummed timidly as she had done at first when they had gone to St. Mawes. The song was not Strike’s type –too American Country-Rock for his liking- but he found himself caught up in the lyrics as he shot some glances at her. The lyrics spoke for themselves:  _I could buy her flowers… That's just too cliche to impress a girl like her, but you know I kinda like it that way. She is whatever she wants to be, she is a little of everything, mixed up, so tough in a beautiful way... She's got the world at her fingertips and she makes beauty look effortless... And I want everything she is_ . Strike gulped focusing back on the road.

_It can’t happen_ Strike’s brain reminded him,  _it will destroy everything_ . Strike nodded to his brain, and pressed the accelerator.

As they entered the house, Strike scowled noticing the silence.

“Aunt Joan?” he asked raising his voice.

“They’re not here,” said Robin. “They’re waiting for us at the Plume Feathers, in Roseland Peninsula.” Strike scowled further.

“What? Why didn’t you say sooner? I would’ve driven there... and why so far? St. Mawes has all I could need... we could’ve stayed home...”

“Cormoran,” she smiled sweetly at him. “Joan and Ted wanted to have a nice dinner in your honour, alright? So just shut up and be happy. Joan said dress code was elegant, so we had to come back and change.”

“Oh, you little...” Strike looked at her with a little smile, touched. “You’re an expert manipulator,” Robin rolled eyes. “I didn’t bring a suit though.” Robin blushed.

“About that...” Robin scratched her hair, dissimulating. “You’ll find your Italian suit on your bed.” Strike’s jaw dropped.

“What? How? It was in my attic flat all the way back in London.”

“No, it was in my suitcase because your aunt did tell me, through Lucy, about this in advance,” Robin corrected him blushing harder and avoiding his eyes.

“How even...?”

“Gosh, Cormoran, you need to know it all, don’t you?” Robin snorted a laugh. “Fine. Remember when were at the office and I told you, the last day of work before we left, to lend me your flat keys because I had to change my bandage and I felt more comfortable in your bedroom?” Strike nodded. “I took my biggest purse with me and...”

“Jesus Christ, thief!” Strike laughed. “You dirty little bird! Wasn’t easier to just tell me to pack it?”

“No because then it wouldn’t be a surprise, although you just ruined it,” Robin pushed him playfully. “Go and change, child!” she giggled as he laughed and walked upstairs, and followed him to go to her bedroom.

Twenty minutes later, when Robin finally emerged and came downstairs, where Strike was waiting in his fine Italian suit, he almost had a heart-attack and had to think very fast of Owen Quine’s guts to avoid an embarrassment between his legs. Robin walked down the stairs, grinning, looking like an angel. Her long red-honey hair, fell loose in waves. Her face wore now a light cape of make-up, with her lips in a light colour and her eyes with a dark eye-shadow that made her glance more intense. And she wore high heels and the damned green dress under her open, long beige coat.

“Pick up your jaw, Mr. Strike,” Robin joked, satisfied, beaming at him. He had finally given her the reaction she expected when she first tried the dress on. Strike tried to form a word, failed, and snorted, and she giggled. “I take that I look nice?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded, blushing. “That you do. Jesus, Robin... I didn’t expect you to use such an expensive dress for something so mundane.”

“Nothing about your birth is mundane,” Robin frowned. “This might as well be my new favourite day of the year.” Strike didn’t ask what she meant, but felt a pang of appreciation in his chest similar to the one he had felt earlier in Land’s End when Robin had given him a present: a box with a playlist made by her, thirty-seven coupons handmade and stapled together that came blank so he could write whatever he wanted and she had to give it to him, and an expensive, beautiful new watch, since Strike had had to sell the one his sister had gifted him and had been wearing a cheap, plastic one he had for emergency substitutions.

 


	19. Birthday guy vs James

They arrived at the Plume Feathers under a light rain, so Strike parked as close to the door as possible and they hurried inside. When Strike entered the place, it was completely dark, and he scowled.

“What t...” Strike started, putting an arm to prevent Robin from entering, in case there was something dangerous inside. However, the lights turned on and a loud ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY!’ echoed in the room. His jaw dropped as he saw all his best friends standing there; Shanker, Dave, Nick, Ilsa, close friends from school he hadn’t seen in ages, Lucy, Ted, Joan, Ilsa’s parents and some others. There were also people Strike didn’t know and that he assumed were family –wives or husbands- of his old school friends.

They were all grinning at him, the room full of colourful balloons and serpentine they had just thrown, and Strike felt himself beaming, turning to look at Robin, who stood beside him, chuckling.

“Perhaps I exaggerated when I said you had ruined the surprise,” Robin commented innocently. Strike snorted a laugh and shook his head.

“Alright, what the hell you guys?” Strike laughed, and the others laughed too. “Thank you, truly. I’ve been busted, thank you.”

Strike’s favourite hits echoed in the room as he drank a pint of Doom Bar and reacquainted with old friends, deep in conversation at times and others just goofing around and laughed. At Lucy’s confession that it had all been Robin’s idea he felt a new wave of gratitude towards her, and he rushed to thank her. By the time the candles had been blown and the elderly had left to sleep while the youth stayed for what they considered ‘the moment when the real fun begins’, they were all pretty drunk, including Robin who, having not taken a medicine in eight hours, felt free to drink her eyes out. She soon befriended Strike’s friends, finding them as nice and charming as she found Ilsa and Nick, and although they could be very different and have very different stories with Strike, they all shared five qualities; they were fun, honest, loyal, down to earth and friendly. None of them had airs of superiority, excessive ego, or gave her suspicious vibes, so it was easy to engage in conversation with any of them and find herself laughing and dancing with them, having more fun than she had had in years. Watching Strike’s attempts to dance only added to the fun, and seeing him blush when she moved her curves around her with a daring attitude only possible when drunk became her new entertainment.

However, Robin hadn’t thought that Strike was also drunk and he wasn’t going to shy away for long when she grinded against him, as everyone danced –except for Nick and Ilsa, that Robin caught making up like adolescents in a corner- and when she smelled him against her neck and felt his hands on her hips, looking at her with a drunk intensity that was dangerous for her determination to not sleep with him –yes, she was provoking him just for fun, and in her drunk state she had spent a long time wondering why not sleep with him at least for one night, but the argument was still happening in her head- she decided if she wanted to protect their friendship and make sure not to endanger the only thing she had in London, her dream-job and her best-friend, she couldn’t keep doing that.

So she stopped trying to provoke and argued hard in her brain against her drunk, horny self that she couldn’t sleep with Strike, that it would ruin everything. To content her drunk, horny self, she decided she had to focus on someone else and soon, distract herself, find a rebound, someone to get her mind off Matthew and Strike, the two men that still made her stomach flip.

Robin had been chatting with James Colleman, who was a doctor, worked with Nick, and was single and attractive, and had made her laugh. James and Strike had met at a party years ago on one of Nick’s birthdays, as he had become one of his closest friends, and had become friends with the same ease Nick and James previously had. Ever since, Strike had tried to met with James every now and then, enjoying, as Strike himself had told Robin, his deep philosophical conversations and his high cultural level. She imagined he was a good possibility, he lived in London, she had seen how he seemed attracted to her, eating her with the eyes, and he was, with the exception of those drunken moments, a gentleman. James had short blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, a sexy goatee, and was only thirty-two, which wasn’t as old as Strike or Nick. When she had asked Ilsa what was James’ flaw to still be single, Ilsa told her he had been married since he was twenty-three until he was about twenty-nine, to his high-school sweetheart, and that she had died in a car accident. They had been so in love it had broken his heart and ever since he hadn’t been able to hit it off with another woman. Robin wasn’t sure she wanted to get into that, but she imagined he’d understand her own baggage and she wasn’t wrong, since James allowed for five minutes of talking of Matthew in which he made her feel better than she was sure any psychologist would, including herself.

Strike observed them chatting in the distance, observing the way they’d smile and laugh, how comfortable they seemed, and figured that, although he was jealous, James was more what Robin deserved. Strike knew he was a very decent man, a good man, not some jerk, that he was honest and loyal, hardworking enough to understand Robin’s long work hours and not complain, polite, respectful, independent, not a misogynistic butthole. He was younger and fitter and handsomer than Strike was, and Strike, although when he saw them start kissing, felt a pang in the chest, had to admit it would be good for them if any of them –or both, even better- could try get on with someone else, because the sexual tension between them threatened to endanger their friendship.

“Shit,” said Ilsa, following his eyes and seeing Robin and James making out discreetly in a dark corner, his hands cupping her face sweetly as they kissed slowly. “Oh, no... I wanted her for you...” Strike snorted a laugh.

“Is better this way,” Strike drank from his pint. “Imagine we hooked up, uh? It would ruin our friendship and then working would be fucking hell.” Ilsa sighed, shrugging.

In the wee hours of the morning, Robin approached Strike, blushed, as he drank his... he didn’t even remember how many pints he had taken, and talked with a few friends, tired to dance.

“Cormoran, can I talk to you for a moment?” Strike nodded, following her outside to talk privately. “Listen, James offered to take me to his hotel, is two streets away so we won’t have to drive with this drunkenness. He goes back to London so I was thinking of... you know...” she blushed hard.

“Having a wild night,” Robin nodded. Strike looked aside, feeling his jaw clench. “Okay, so?” Robin frowned lightly.

“Well, just so you don’t wait for me. I spoke with Lucy, she’s only had one pint hours ago, so she can drive our car with you back to the house, since she came with Ted and Joan and she doesn’t have another ride. She can sleep in her bed, I changed the sheets this morning, she’s going back to London tomorrow because she couldn’t afford two days off work,” Robin explained, surprised by his coldness. Strike nodded, looking aside. “Are you alright? Are you going to puke or something?” Strike snorted a laugh.

“Of course not, I’m alright,” he answered. “It’s just... can’t believe you’re going to sleep with the first dude who...” he looked at her and bit his tongue at her frown.

“So you can and I can’t?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please,” Robin shook her head, indignant. “You sleep with anyone you want. Elin was a steadier arrangement, but I know you slept with Nina Lascelles and Ciara Porter too, I’m not stupid. As always, if a man sleeps around is cool but if a woman wants to sleep with some dude, that by the way is not a complete stranger but I’ve actually talked for hours with him all night and he’s friend of many of you so I’ve gotten the cue he’s good, then it’s bad. Do you think I’m a whore or something?”

“Robin, Robin Jesus Christ, I’m not talking of any of that!” Strike huffed, scowling. Robin, confused, looked at him intently.

“Then what?”

“Of course you can sleep with him, it’s none of my fucking business,” Strike snapped, taking her aback, and he looked around. “I was just being a good friend and caring for you because you said after what happened to you sex wasn’t so easy, you said it in fucking court, and I thought maybe sleeping with a semi stranger wasn’t a good idea because perhaps you won’t have fun at all.”

“Oh,” Robin nodded, regretting her words. “Well yeah, sorry I just...” Strike nodded. “I’m sorry, Cormoran,” she repeated, seeing how cold he was being. “Look, it’s nice of you to worry, really. Thank you. I’m not sure if sex is what I want, but James seems like a sweet guy. Maybe we’ll just chat until late and fall asleep; he’s great to talk with. Or I don’t know, but I’ll risk it, I just want a rebound, get my mind off things and he’s an easy choice. None of us wants anything serious, we’ve both left it very clear, so...” she shrugged. Strike nodded again.

“Good luck then,” he murmured, taking a sip of the pint in his hand and enjoying the fresh air in his face.

“Yeah, thanks,” Robin nodded, looking at him with distrust. “Are you okay? For real, you seem... don’t know...”

“I’m fine,” Strike assured, looking at her and feeling guilty as he saw genuine concern in her face. “I’m fine, Robin, seriously. I guess you’ve just caught me off-guard telling me about your sex life and is weird...” he smiled a little and she did too, shrugging.

“I guess,” said Robin. “I just wanted you to know, so you don’t worry about me.”

“Thanks...”

“Well, James’s waiting for me. See you tomorrow okay?”

“Okay. Have fun.”

“You too.”

After Robin left, Strike felt sobered out and drank a couple more beers while talking to friends and trying to forget about Robin, glancing at his mobile every once in a while in case Robin texted or called, and when the party eventually finished Lucy drove him back to the house and they both went to sleep. When Strike woke up, late, Lucy had already left back to London and Robin was enjoying a muffin while laughing about something with Joan in the kitchen.

“Morning birthday guy, there’s paracetamol on your night stand,” Robin smiled at him, beaming. Strike thought that was the power of orgasms, although he didn’t know, and Robin wasn’t inclined to tell him, that she hadn’t had actual intercourse, just oral sex –a very pleasant one with a few orgasms- and lots of pleasant talking and laughing until she had one of the best sleeps of her night.

James had then driven her home and walked her to the door before going back to London after making sure they had, in their friends-with-benefits mutual agreement, agreed to meet again for coffee when she was back in London.

“Morning,” Strike grumbled, scratching his stubble. He flopped on a chair looking like a zombie and let a long sigh out. “Yeah... I took it...” he whispered, making Robin giggle at his zombie-like attitude.

“Come on, eat something,” Joan smiled at her nephew, putting a glass of juice and a plate of eggs and bacon in front of him that Strike looked in a way very different from the one he usually looked at bacon. He gulped, and nodded silently. “Did you have fun sweetie?” she asked, burying her fingers in his curls and looking sweetly at him as if he was still a little ten-year-old boy and not a hairy, big, hangover man. Robin contemplated them with a sweet smile, supporting her cheek on her hand and turning to look at them. Strike hummed while nodding, and stuffed a bit of bacon in his mouth wishing not to puke. “Aw, aren’t you my little poet?” Joan joked snorting a laugh before kissing his head and leaving the room.

“At least you managed to change into your pyjamas,” Robin commented humorously looking at his stripped t-shirt. Strike groaned, took a sip of his juice, and leaned back.

“So,” Strike said finally, when his plate was empty and his juice too, looking at Robin with tired eyes. “Got lucky?” Robin nodded with a little smile. Strike’s eyes widened and then nodded. “Good...” He got up to wash the dishes. As he did so, he mumbled: “A good guy, James, yeah... good guy...” Robin snorted a laugh, getting up.

“You’re so dead,” Robin commented, standing behind him and putting her hands on his hips, to which he froze, straightening up. She moved the fingers of one hand to palm his hip slightly. “Come on, go back to bed. I’ll do this.”

“No, it’s okay, I can...”

“Go to sleep, you need it,” Robin insisted, palming his hip more intensely. It was driving Strike crazy, each brush of her skin going directly to his groin, so he reluctantly moved aside, nodding.

“Thanks Robin, you’re a good friend,” said Strike drunkenly walking back upstairs. Robin giggled and went to clean his dishes.

 


	20. Zahara Blue

“ _Tell me how to be in this world, tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt, tell me how, ‘cause I believe in something, I believe in us... tell me when the light goes out, that even in the dark we will find a way out, tell me now ‘cause I believe in something... I believe in us..._ ” Strike chuckled hearing Robin’s soft singing along with the music in the car, palming her thighs with the rhythm, as they entered the city of London. “Come on, now!” Robin encouraged him when the chorus was to repeat again. Strike rolled eyes but acceded.

“ _Tell me how to be in this world, tell me how to breathe in and feel no hurt, tell me how, ‘cause I believe in something, I believe in us... tell me when the light goes out, that even in the dark we will find a way out, tell me now ‘cause I believe in something... I believe in us..._ ” he sang softly alongside her the last time it was repeated, and she smiled at him, content. “Well, here we are.” Strike stopped the car in front of Nick and Ilsa’s doorstep.

“Okay... are you going to park or...?” Robin questioned.

“Why? You can just get out?”

“Aren’t you coming in for dinner?”

“Nah, I’ll...” Strike was thoughtful for a moment.

“Cook yourself pasta, sit on your bed in front of the TV and watch the Arsenal,” Robin finished for him, rolling eyes.

“Sounds like a plan,” Strike side smiled.

“Come on, park and come in, will you? Please?”

“Alright...” Strike rolled eyes but smiled, driving to park the car and helping Robin with her things. Robin had her own key of the house so she just opened.

“We’re back!” Robin shouted with a cheerful singing voice. They heard steps and Ilsa and Nick appeared, smiling.

“Hey, right in time for dinner!” Nick took Robin’s suitcase. “I’ll get this to your room.”

“Thanks,” said Robin, accepting a hug from Ilsa before the lawyer went to hug Strike.

“Still with the hangover?” Ilsa joked looking at Strike, smiling a little.

“Very funny,” Strike looked at his friend, happy to see her. Nick and Ilsa had only stayed in St. Mawes for one extra day and Strike had still missed them. “I’m good now, ready to work tomorrow.”

The four sat down for dinner, catching up and swiftly talking. Ilsa informed Robin that while she was out she had rushed with the divorce papers and made enormous progress, and now she just had to sign them, which made Robin very happy, as she signed them beside a plate of fish. Matthew had accepted her proposal of selling their house and dividing their total money in sixty-five percent to Matthew (Robin had in mind that the flat had been Matthew’s more time than hers and that he had contributed the most money into the house) and thirty-five percent to Robin, which still left her with a nice amount if they could sell the house for as much as they expected. As for the objects, Robin only wanted those that were strictly hers and most of the things they considered of the two of them were left for Matthew.

“We also had other great news,” Ilsa commented, smiling at her husband, who beamed.

“We were wondering if you’d accept being the godfather and godmother of Zahara.”

“Zahara? Who?” Robin looked at them curious. Strike raised his eyebrows.

“Have you finally gotten a kitten?” Strike asked. He liked cats. They were independent, weren’t constantly drooling on you, barely needed you and only came to you when they wanted. They understood his wish to be left alone at times, and shared it, and they were neat animals.

“Show them,” Nick encouraged Ilsa, who grinned and ran upstairs. She came back a little later, with something wrapped in blankets between her arms. Strike and Robin stood to see and looked to see a little black baby, sleeping peacefully. She was so little she couldn’t possibly have been older than three months at most.

“Oh my God!” Robin squealed.

“Shit, you _stole_ a baby?” Strike’s eyes widened. Ilsa laughed.

“Of course we didn’t steal her, you brute!” said Ilsa. “We’ve _adopted_ her.” She said with bright eyes, kissing the baby’s forehead.

“Isn’t she the prettiest thing?” Nick beamed, his fingers passing through Zahara’s forehead. “Zahara Blue Herbert,” he added, chuckling at Strike, who looked astonished. “She’s only almost two months. Someone dumped her in a litter in Newham, can you believe it? And they found her, thank God, and we just fell in love with her.”

“No one wanted her, poor thing,” Ilsa added with bright eyes. “She wanted some parents for Christmas and we wanted a child, and we’re sick of waiting...” Ilsa sniffled, looking down at Zahara and bouncing her lightly.

“We were meant for her, we know,” Nick smiled, kissing Ilsa’s temple. “We started the paperwork ages ago, thank God Ilsa speaks lawyer,” Nick joked. “We felt so silly we hadn’t thought of adopting earlier, because it’s so dumb, we’re here eating our brains out and spending in doctors just to try to get pregnant, when there are so many children there who don’t have a family and sit there in the poorest of places for years just waiting for one. It made all the sense.”

“Oh, guys...” Robin grinned at them, caressing one of Zahara’s little clenched fists. “She’s so cute, how long has she been hidden up there?”

“Well, it was a birthday present to her godfather, we think,” Ilsa smiled at Strike, who looked down at the baby intently, serious, without saying anything. “We got the call we had her while we were at the party, they said she was ours and they’d get the last paperwork in order and give her to us on Friday or Saturday, so we stayed in St. Mawes on Thursday to make the long wait pass faster. She’s been with us for two days now, today.”

“And she’s a Libra, like her godmother,” Nick chuckled at Robin. “Was born on September 29th. You’ll be her godparents, right? We thought about it,” he added looking at Ilsa, “and we decided to raise her by the Church of England, not heavily and with our filters and science first, but at least the basics... we figured if there’s a God, maybe he can care for her when we aren’t looking.”

“Of course we’ll be,” Robin answered for the two of them.

Strike was awestruck. He had known, for years, that Nick and Ilsa wanted children, a family as big as possible, and that they would be great parents one day. They were intelligent, caring, loving, had a stable economy and home, and lived in a nice house permanently, what else could a child want? But now that it had finally happened, it felt surreal. They didn’t know Strike had been expecting to become a father two years previously, Strike hadn’t wanted to tell anyone in case something happened or Charlotte was lying –like it most likely happened- and Strike also didn’t want to cause frustration or resentment in his friends when they heard they, who wanted so much a child and had been trying for so long, couldn’t have a child, but Strike and Charlotte, who never wanted one, who despised most children, had managed to ‘book’ one just casually, by pure accident, without even trying.

He wasn’t fully sure of what he had felt for that child but he knew that, after the previous shock had passed, Strike had started to want to be a father. They had decided not to abort and he had been full of insecurities and fears, looking at other fathers across the street and wondering if he could ever do that, but then he had stopped with eyes lingering in the shop windows, on those little clothes, and he had imagined maybe he could do it. Strike had been taught the greatest love by his mother, he had seen what was not okay to do to a child, and he had started to think ‘maybe this could be nice’, even if he never saw himself as the typical dad. And then, just when he had started to be excited about it, it was over, and if Strike thought about it, it had felt awful. It had felt like getting punched in the groin and then worst.

And now there was little Zahara, who looked nothing like her good, perfect parents, who like him, had known the cruelty of the world far too young, and who had found a happy ending. Strike looked at her, wondering if this was a child he could actually like, if he could manage to remember her birthday like he hadn’t of any other child, if he’d like this girl more than he liked his nephews. And he was afraid.

Strike knew Ilsa and Nick expected him to change and be different for Zahara, because she was his best friends’ daughter and he  _had_ to be different. He was expected to show up, surprising everybody, to be a godfather and not just hold the title, they had even named her Zahara  _Blue_ , and they expected for him to be there, to love her almost as much as themselves did, to buy her cute things, play with her, change her diapers, feed her, be Uncle Corm, Zahara’s favourite. Strike didn’t want to disappoint them, but he knew he could not reach their expectations. He knew nothing about babies, they usually disliked each other, and Zahara would soon find out her uncle was useless and get disappointed because how could someone her parents spoke and thought so highly of, be a complete weirdo? And Strike found the idea of disappointing this one child actually stung.

“Cormoran?” Ilsa was looking at him, panicking. “You’ll be her godfather, right? You haven’t said anything... I mean, we know you don’t like children, but we thought...”

“It’s okay,” Strike managed a little smile. “I’ll be, but I’m not making any promises. We might get along better when she’s a teenager than now.” He tried to sound as he was joking, but he wasn’t sure anyone gulped. Ilsa, however, looked satisfied enough. “She’s pretty. Five fingers and all.”

“Five fingers and all,” Nick snorted a laugh.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Ilsa chuckled. “Hold your goddaughter, she’s the only one you have!”

“Are you sure? Because she’s brand new and my fingers aren’t very soft...”

“Of course we are,” Ilsa practically forced Zahara into his arms and he held her, tentatively. He hadn’t held many newborns many times. Strike had practically been forced to hold Timothy Cormoran Anstis once, at his baptism, and by then he was already eighteen months. Lucy had also insisted for him to hold his nephews every now and then, but Strike was sure he hadn’t held them more than eight times or so, altogether.

He was instantly surprised by Zahara’s little size and weight. It was almost like holding a hamster for how little she weighted, and his big hands stood up against her tiny size. Her whole head fitted on his hand, he could probably hold her entirely with one arm, but he decided not to risky. Zahara must’ve felt the change from soft hands and more experienced, delicate holding, her mum’s soft perfume, to Strike’s calloused hands and sloppy, untrained arms smelling of his shaving cream, if he was lucky, since he wasn’t smoking much due to Robin, because her tiny eyes opened, full of thousands of black eyelashes, and she looked at him with half opened dark eyes. Strike widened his eyes in surprise and when she yawned, her small mouth stretching emitting a cute noise, everyone but Strike cooed.

“She woke up just to say hi to her uncle, lord she’s so cute!” Ilsa squealed. Strike doubted she had woken up to say hi, and observed petrified, waiting for the child to cry. They all did. They could smell his fear. However, a couple minutes passed and Zahara Blue didn’t cry. She observed her with curious eyes, attentive, and Strike wondered if she was already laughing inside about his hair or wondering how a man could have so much hair everywhere, since her father was very different.

“Cormoran, don’t be impolite and say hi,” Nick encouraged. “So she learns your voice.”

“Oh uh...” Strike cleared his throat, looking at the baby. “Hi, you.” Robin snorted a laugh, looking at him completely enamoured. She knew he was a soft giant inside.

“Wait,” Robin realised suddenly. “You’re going to need my room.”

“Oh, not at all, she’s sleeping with us for now,” said Nick. “We put her changing table in our bedroom and I think we can manage with her in our room for at least her first year or maybe eight, nine months?” Ilsa nodded.

“Even more, probably. She only needs a crib and we can put it anywhere,” said Ilsa. “Although we’re sorry in advance if she ever wakes you up, we didn’t expect for all to come at once...” she looked apologetic and Robin shook her head, smiling.

“Hey, no worries,” Robin shrugged. “I already started looking for a place, weeks ago. I actually think I’ve decided on a small one-bedroom flat, first floor in Parker St. Is right by the office, so is city centre’s prizes, but I figured I’m going to save in transport so... And I gain an hour of sleep. I’m going to see it tomorrow and if it’s convincing I’ll make an offer to rent it, hopefully my dear ex-husband can pay me soon.” Ilsa smiled.

“Great, then we have twice to celebrate! Nick get the good champagne,” Ilsa smiled at her husband, who laughed. Strike was still attentive of Zahara, fearing if he moved he’d disturb her and if he talked, his powerful voice would wake her up, but he smiled approvingly at Robin before looking back to the kid in his arms. She was sleeping again, with her nose pressed to his jumper. Perhaps this one kid would like him. 

 

 


	21. Fucking James

“Are you sure I look fine?” Strike stood in front of Nick, who was holding a very awake Zahara, wearing an elegant three-piece black suit with a navy blue tie.

“You look excellent, told you my tailor is the best, right Zae?” Nick grinned at his daughter, kissing her cheek. “Look at Uncle Corm, all suited up.”

“I still don’t feel right with you buying it, is not cheap...” Strike murmured going back into the changing room to change into his normal clothes.

“Is a Christmas present, come on,” Nick rolled eyes. “Just tell me Robin’s face, she’s going to flip. Is she still seeing James?”

“They went out for a movie last night,” Strike grumbled from the other side of the curtain. “He even calls her at the office sometimes, and she gets this sweet voice...”

“Oh, she’s falling for him!”

“What? No, he’s a rebound!”

“If it makes you feel better to think so...” Strike ripped the curtain open and scowled at him, shirtless.

“What are you talking about?” Strike asked. Nick sighed putting a hand over his daughter’s eyes and looking at him reproachfully.

“You have a crush on Robin, mate.”

“No I don’t,” Strike closed the curtain again, fumbling with his belt and removing the expensive pants with delicacy. “She’s my friend. My colleague.”

“Which is why you sound as if someone was torturing you when you talk about James,” Nick reasoned. “Come on Oggy, we all see how you look at each other. She likes you too, you know? When you’re together, sometimes it feels like I caught you between kisses.”

Strike rolled eyes, finally leaving the changing room with his new suit in one hand.

“Look, is she sexy? Yes. Beautiful,” Strike recognised. “I have eyes in the face, I see her when she leans over the damned desk...”

“Ohh...!” Nick laughed.

“But that’s all there is. I’d sleep with her and that’s it. Neither of us wants a relationship, and we’re very different people, we wouldn’t work if we dated. And I’m not sleeping with her because it will ruin our friendship and our work life...”

“So you’ve thought about it.”

“W-...” Strike shrugged. “Like I said, she’s... a nice body.”

“Yeah,” Nick chuckled. “We all heard how you spoke about her in court. Are you sure she’s just a nice body?”

Strike rolled eyes and didn’t answer. Zahara fixed her dark eyes on him and yawned, going back to sleep against her father’s chest.

Stephen and Emma’s wedding took place in York on December 17 th , 2011. As Strike sat in his new elegant suit beside Robin in the first row at church, occupying the place that had been reserved to Matthew, he remembered Nick’s words ‘ _She likes you too_ ’. His eyes dared to Robin, beautiful in a long, navy blue dress with boat neck, a maid of honour grinning at the beaming couple. Strike had struggled to keep himself together when he had seen her, so absolutely stunning and perfect, but he had noticed Robin blushing furiously when she looked at him in his suit.

“They truly are meant to be, look, they can’t help but smile,” Robin whispered to Strike, closing her long coat around her, cold. “She’s outstanding...”

“Yeah, she is...” but Strike was looking at her, hypnotized. Robin looked at him briefly and smiled, blushing.

Strike finally decided to invite her to dance at the reception, while he looked at her, spellbound, over dinner. Everyone had been asking if they were a couple, yes, but it would just be a friends’ dance, just having fun, keeping herself from disgusting, drunk men. However, as he was going to speak to ask her “Robin, w...”, a young man, about Robin’s age and with a broad back and strong arms, marked in the suit, and sweet features, approached Robin.

“Robin, a dance?” he smiled offering a hand. Robin blushed, smiled, and looked briefly at Strike, who pressed his lips together into a forced smile.

“Sure,” Robin took the man’s hand and that was the last Strike saw of her. He heard that he was Louis, a friend of Stephen from school, and that he was a professional tango dancer.

So Louis danced with Robin like Strike would’ve liked to be able to do, he clenched his teeth in jealousy, and tried to ignore the sounds of laughter and glee from Robin by being outside, smoking, for most of the time, until he managed to get it on with Emma’s cousin, who had been giving her eyes, and ended up accompanying her to her hotel room in York and sleeping with her.

**. . .**

After the wedding, as he sat on the office’s sofa back in London contemplating Robin more than listening to her as she read out loud about one of their cases, Strike realised that he was fucked. His feelings for Robin had definitely gotten out of control after having a ring repress them for a long year and a half, and now he found himself not listening to her, instead thinking of the night before, when they had been watching a movie in Robin’s new flat, and she had snuggled into him claiming it was ‘too cold’ and he had repressed the urge to kiss her down her long neck and her cleavage, so low in her pyjama shirt, with no bra on, her nipples marking from outside...

“Cormoran, are you listening to me?” Robin called his attention.

“Sorry, no,” said Strike. “What was that last thing you said? I thought I heard a client coming and I zoned out...” Robin rolled eyes, but chuckled. Strike thought she was angelic.

Then, Strike had seen her singing softly to Zahara during Christmas, as Robin had decided to spend it in London this year, since she had just come from Masham and didn’t want to spend more money travelling, making a small party at her new flat. She had been so sweet with the crying child and Strike had wanted to engrave the scene in his memory forever. It had been harder to resist her then.

At New Year’s Eve, it was impossible. Nick and Ilsa held a small party, Zahara sleeping upstairs during most of it, at their house in Octavia Street, and when Strike saw Robin’s winter dress, sexy and marking all her curves, he hated that she came with James. And he got so very drunk, which didn’t help to keep his thoughts sane as he watched them dance the night away. But then James was called for a medical emergency at the hospital and Strike thanked heavens.

“Can I walk you home?” Strike offered innocently, so drunk he wasn’t sure how or who had articulated that sentence, when Robin, also quite wasted, was putting on her coat. “’S ne’r mine so...” he shrugged, finding words difficult. She drunkenly laughed and nodded.

“C’me on, knight of shining armour,” she answered, holding onto his arm as they walked through the snowed streets of London.

The couple walked side by side mostly in silence, both too drunk to think very clearly, and got in the metro with the first hours of 2012, slumping their way through the freezing streets as they neared Robin’s flat, laughing drunkenly about something stupid.

“So,” Robin looked at the building door, a shadow of laughter still present in her face. “I’m home.” Strike nodded, and then, on a whim, decided to try his luck.

“Aren’t you going to offer me a tea? It’s freezing out here...” Robin raised her eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh yeah?” Robin asked playful. “Come up then.”

They stood side by side in the lift, and Strike looked at Robin up and down without embarrassment, letting her blush as he looked at her curves with desire. Robin liked to feel sexy, wanted, but she still felt a bit uncomfortable.

“What are you doing?” the lift opened.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Strike, following her outside the lift and looking at her ass. “Admiring a masterpiece,” Robin turned around as she opened the door, looking at him with a little smile, red. “You’re gorgeous, Robin.”

In two big steps Strike had gone inside the house and had pinned her against the wall, his lips finding hers and kissing her passionately.

 

 


	22. I need you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tension escalates and things get very very very smutty.

Strike and Robin were a mess of open-mouthed, deep kisses, entangled nude seven limbs and a half, moaning and groaning. Their hands slid up and down the other feeling the other one’s skin warm like fire, as they left a trail of kisses over the other’s skin. They were both in their underwear and, as Robin lied on her back on the bed, Strike leaned over her, careful not to squash her, leaving a trail of delicate, slow, deep kisses between her breasts as his hands opened the bra and slid it off her. He was so delicate and he took his time, careful, his calloused hands travelling over her body making her burn for his touch, and his lips, warm, soft and thick enough, trapped her right nipple, his tongue brushing with it and making her arch and moan as his other hand pinched her other nipple and took great care of it.

Robin opened her legs, putting them around Strike’s hips and, as her hands sank on his curls and gripped his strong shoulders, she used her legs to press his groin against hers through their underwear, making them both moan. Strike started purposely pressing their groins together, his thick, hard and large penis rubbing against her silk, moist, warmth. It took far too much, in Robin’s opinion, in a sea of moans and groans, for Strike to remove her underwear and sink his tongue in her, making her yelp as she used her hands to press him against her. His thick tongue danced with her clit and lapped at her wetness, and she was never more thankful for his long, fat fingers, making their way inside of her, first one, and then two.

“Oh, bugger!” Robin shut her eyes close, arching upwards as Strike’s hand manipulated her nipple and the other played with her entrance, along with her mouth. She raised her hips upwards time after time. “Cormoran, please, Cormoran...” she whispered hoarsely between moans. Strike’s teeth dragged one of her vaginal lips softly and she yelped, grabbing his hair and pressing her against her.

“What?” Strike asked hoarsely, innocently looking at her with dark, dilated pupils. Robin looked down at her, flustered, her eyes dark blue from the passion, her lips red from the kissing, sexier than ever.

“Fuck me like no one’s ever fucked me.” Strike smiled.

“Easy tiger,” Strike removed his boxers and stroke the side of his length, up and down between Robin’s folds, coating it. Robin was dripping wet and he didn’t remember ever being so hard, it was such that it hurt. He moved his lips to kiss her as he did this, and as he bit her earlobe, he murmured. “I’m going to do something better... I’m going to make love to you like no one ever has.” The weight of his words made Robin grin and bring him in for a kiss.

“You’re so special Corm, so special,” Robin whispered between kisses, holding his face between her soft hands. Every word was a gift to Strike’s ears.

“I want to make you feel good,” Cormoran said. “This is your night, beautiful.” Robin smiled, reaching down to grab his cock and made his breathing caugh.

Robin turned them so she could roll over, and took his dick between her hands, reaching to do a proper hand job. It was by far the biggest cock she had ever touched and although she would’ve usually felt intimidated or even a little scared about fitting it, a lioness side of her felt up for the challenge, decided to not be any less than Charlotte, Elin, or anyone else. She took it with confidence, smiling at his closed eyes and contained groans, that slowly he stopped trying to conceal, and Robin touched him from his sack to the tip, up and down admiring the warmness of it. Robin kissed and nibbled his nipples, and went up with kisses through his neck and mouth, then down back to his hairy chest, belly, kissing down until she reached his member, and in an impulse, she tried to suck it. He jolted and his hips moved, groaning in pleasure, as she sucked his tip like a lollypop, the very first time his mouth touched a man’s member.

It didn’t taste like pasta, being honest, but the idea that she was giving him so much pleasure and also lubing him up for her to take him was enough to keep him going until he stopped her. Then, Strike gifted her with an orgasm only with two talented fingers, his thumb playing with her engorged clit, and their mouths meeting each other in depth. When Robin got sick of foreplay, she decided to get things moving.

“Make love to me,” said Robin.

“I’ve been doing it,” Strike murmured, kissing her face.

“I know,” Robin smiled. “But I want to feel that thick sword of yours inside of me.” She said dirtily, making his pupils dilate. “I never let James do it.” She confessed.

“I won’t hurt you,” Strike whispered, cupping her face and kissing her.

“I know,” Robin repeated, humming content. “I trust you.”

“Condom?”

“I’m on the pill,” Robin said. “Helps control my period.”

Strike nodded and pressed his full length against her, making her moan, coating himself again before slowly pressing against her entrance. At first, Robin’s eyes opened and she thought the size was going to split her in two, but at the same time it just felt  _great_ , and she threw her head back, moaning. And then after a bit of pushing and tons of finger-touching her, he was all in, filling her so much she felt just so full, so overwhelmed, and so good.

Their moans and dirty talking filled the room as Strike made love to her so softly, so sweetly, until she was begging to be hammered, which he gladly did. Robin orgasmed as she rode him dry, and when she felt him spill inside, she did it again, shouting obscenities while Strike sucked her nipples.

It wasn’t the first time they made love that night... and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

**. . .**

His own snores seemed to wake him up in the late hours of January 1 st . Strike opened his eyes with a groan, and immediately knew he wasn’t in his own bed, since the one he was in was warmer, more comfortable than her usual one. Accustoming his eyes to the light he blinked a gasp made him jolt and look aside. Robin was sitting up in bed, eyes wide, mouth forming an ‘o’ and both hands gripping the duvet to cover her chest as her eyes pierced him. Strike had only a minute to marvel at Robin’s beauty, with the lips swollen and the hair dishevelled and bright with the sun, before he registered that he was looking at Robin. That he was in a bed, nude, with a very nude Robin beside him, and that such bed was undoubtedly Robin’s.

“Shit,” Strike breathed out, pulling the duvet to cover him on instinct.

“What the fuck happened last night?” Robin murmured with a strangled voice. “Oh, bugger! Fuck!” she looked underneath the duvet.

“Yeah, I’m nude t...”

“Is not that! Why is... is that semen coming out of my vagina?!” Robin yelped on a very sharp voice that worsened a headache Strike was starting to feel.

“Jesus, Robin...” Strike murmured covering his ears. “Lower that, bird...” Robin turned to face him so suddenly and with such look, Strike would’ve stepped back if he could.

“Did you cum inside?!” Robin shouted.

“Robin, why don’t you calm down and...?”

“Calm down? We slept together! We had sex! You came inside of me!”

“Perhaps I did because you were on the pill? I always ask!” Strike defended himself. Robin shot him a murder look and he shrugged. He truly didn’t remember anything past having danced with Robin. Where had it gone his ability to not catch hangovers?

“ _Still_ ,” Robin muttered. “Jesus, what have we done?”

“We had sex,” Strike cleared out, putting two and two together. “And I have a hangover so please relax, my head is about to explode.” He grumbled, moving to put on the prosthesis. Robin shot up from the bed, covering herself with the duvet and leaving Strike naked. “Hey!” But the girl had locked herself in the only bathroom of the house already and by the sound of it, she was throwing up. “Great...” leg on and all, Strike fell back on the bed, throwing an arm around his eyes.

Hearing the shower running in the bathroom and deciding Robin didn’t want him there, Strike reluctantly dressed, a mixture of frustration and sadness inside of him and accepting to clean his dick with a napkin he found in the kitchen. Then, he stepped outside into the cold street, and stood for a minute, not knowing where to go. He was doing the walk of shame, dressed in his elegant suit but dishevelled –tie stuffed in his pocket, waistcoat opened- to his own flat. If that wasn’t plain rejection of Robin’s side, then what was it? She was disgusted and horrified and their friendship ruined.

“Good one, you fat tit,” Strike insulted himself. Panting, he climbed the stairs of his office in Denmark Street up to his attic flat, and turning the water to the hottest, he showered and changed into clean pyjamas.

Strike turned off his mobile phone and locked his front door, choosing to pretend he wasn’t home. He took a paracetamol and while he drank a bottle of water, he lied in bed, trying to remember something. Slowly, flashes came to his mind: Robin laughing and looking at him with bright eyes as they walked down the snowed street at night; hot kisses; clothes thrown; Robin moaning, her breasts exposed before his eyes as she bounced up and down his cock. He let a long breath out. That wasn’t how he had wanted to do this with Robin, but he didn’t feel completely horrified by it, not the way Robin did. He had wanted it, he knew he felt things for Robin, and he thought she wanted him too. But she was now probably throwing up again, horrified by what had happened, perhaps even traumatized.

Not feeling like dealing with the problem for the moment, he fell asleep. By the time he woke up it was the middle of the night, so he set an alarm and went back to sleep for a few more hours, until he was up and ready for a normal work day. He started the Monday by having a decent breakfast, realizing he hadn’t eaten at all the day before and making a full English. With a happy stomach, he showered, brushed his teeth, shaved and dressed and was in the office before nine, the first one. He set down to work and ten minutes later, Robin arrived.

“Cormoran?” Strike heard her, and she opened the door, her eyes searching for him.

“Morning,” said Strike. Robin sighed.

“What happened to you?” Robin asked. “We called you a dozen times...”

“What are you talking about?” Strike asked, checking his phone. He still had it turned off, so he turned it on and saw a bunch of messages and calls from Robin, Ilsa, Nick and Lucy. “Shit, I was going to take a nap so I turned the phone off and I basically woke up this morning so...” Strike shrugged apologetically.

“Ilsa invited us all for dinner, no one knew about you,” Robin explained. “I thought you were mad or something...” she added, looking down.

“Mad? No, asleep,” Strike focused back on his work. “Guess everyone knows now?”

“No,” said Robin. “But they remember more than we do. They asked teasingly how did the night go and I said I went home and you came here.” Strike nodded silently, looking at her. God, she was so beautiful, why had he ever thought Charlotte was prettier?

“We should talk about the elephant in the room,” Strike suggested leaning back in his chair and focusing on her.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Robin whispered, her hands in her pockets. “We were incredibly drunk, the other was there, we made a mistake and slept together. Won’t happen again, it was just a drunken mistake... and I’m sorry for my roughness when I woke up.”

“That’s all it was for you?” asked Strike. “A drunken mistake?” Robin nodded. “I think a part of you wanted for it to happen. I think you’re attracted to me, Robin, alcohol only gives you the extra push to do all you already wanted to do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for the comments and support!
> 
> If you like to, you can follow me in my tumblr https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/ where I basically post about Cormoran Strike and its actors, quotes, bits of Harry Potter and a tiny bit of Krashlyn (two USWNT players that are lesbian TOGETHER).
> 
> Hugs to you all!


	23. Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who gives me spoilers on Lethal White will receive a distance hug and special mentions. Love me some spoilers.

“So you wanted it, is that what you’re implying?”

“Yeah,” Strike got up and walked to her, standing at a cautious distance. “Robin... I’ve always liked you a lot. It pisses me off that Matthew was right in that, but I’ve got eyes in the face, I see you,” Robin blushed, uncomfortable, but Strike went on because his innate sincerity was bigger than his delicacy, his reluctance to get personal, and his embarrassment “and you’ve always been a beautiful woman. If you hadn’t come here with an engagement ring, I probably would’ve waited until I was no longer your boss and then asked you out. I would have.” He recognized. Then he sighed and shrugged, looking at her apologetic. “Then I knew you more and then I liked you more and I just... I like your driving, I like your musical taste, I like your passion, your kindness, your empathy, the way you make me laugh... I like you. All of you. But you’re my best friend now, and I don’t want to lose that friendship, it means far too much to me, that’s why I never made a move, even after things with Matthew were over.” Robin made a gesture to talk but Strike raised a hand to stop her. “When he was in the picture I was always silently thankful because that ring was a guarantee I would always keep it in my pants, eventually friend-zone you, and I’d get to keep my best friend without chances of endangering that. Once that was gone, I guess it was a matter of time before I was too trunk to remember all my reasons to stay away from you... and I’m sorry if it bothers you, I’m so, so sorry, and I’m sorry for the way it happened, I wish it had been differently, but I want you to know that I like you, that I care so much about you and that if me being attracted to you is a problem to you, I’ll shove it down my ass and swear on my mother to keep things strictly friendly from now on. But I don’t want things to go to hell between us for this.”

Robin let a long breath out. It was all far too overwhelming and she didn’t even know what to say, she felt dizzy and confused and her heart was beating too fast, so she just exited the room and flopped on the sofa, sighing again as she supported her head on her hands, leaning forward. Strike peeked outside tentatively to know if he should stay in the inner office and give her space or not, and then he decided to go and make tea. He slowly walked towards Robin, eyes attentive to her response, and seeing it seemed okay, he prepared the kettle and filled them two mugs once it was ready, touching Robin’s shoulder for her to look up, and handing her the Yorkshire tea.

“Thanks,” Robin murmured, taking a sip. Strike moved Robin’s chair and sat in front of her on the chair, his tea between his big hands.

“I’m sorry,” Strike repeated. “Are you alright? Did I fuck up too deep?” he asked with what Robin saw was genuine concern. She snorted a laugh and shook her head.

“No, is just...” Robin sighed, taking another sip from her tea. “I do find you attractive, is not that,” She recognized blushing furiously. Strike smiled a little and nodded. “Cormoran, I... I care tremendously about you. You’re my only best friend here, you’re my only workmate, the only one who gets and shares my passion of all the people I know. Do you realize how catastrophic it would be for me to lose you?”

“I feel the same,” Strike nodded.

“Yeah and...” Robin shrugged. “Look, I’m in a shitty moment in my life and I love Matthew, I still do, and I never even paid attention to you this way until like, nothing ago, so it’s probably just confused gratitude. I was drunk, I’m hurting and my vagina went for a rebound to forget Matthew and you were there and you’re good looking and good to me. I’m sorry, but I think it’s all there is... as great of a man as you are, I don’t think I actually see you as nothing more than a best friend. I’m sorry.”

“Okay,” stung but happy she was fine and they both could be fine, Strike stood up. “As long as you’re okay and we’re good, I’m happy.”

“And Cormoran,” Robin grabbed his hand and he sat back down. “I feel the same way about our friendship... I don’t want to put it at risk. It means too much.”

“I know,” Strike smiled a little, nodding. “We’re good.” Robin nodded, with a little smile, and Strike stood up, put the chair back in its place, and was about to disappear back into the inner office when he heard her voice again.

“That’s why if I were to risk it, it wouldn’t be just to get off,” said Robin. “It would be... it would have to be to give you all. To go big or go home, you know? To have something serious and meaningful. I’d only risk us for that, for something bigger and better...” Strike stood still, facing his door. His heart had caught in his throat. “And I’m struggling too much now to give you that. I’m not ready for that.”

Strike turned around, biting his lip in deep thought as he contemplated her. She looked crestfallen, sitting there all alone, and he was tempted to go and kiss her, but it had been made clear that was the last thing he could do.

“I’ll always be here, Robin,” said Strike finally, after a few moments of silence. “And I won’t let anyone treat you wrong again.” Robin looked up and smiled at him warmly, with bright eyes.

He stood and observed as she came to him and enveloped him in a hug, that he accepted, wrapping his arms around her and bringing her close, pressing his lips against the top of her head.

“I’m here too, Corm,” she whispered against his chest. “I’m always here.”

**. . .**

The pair agreed on not telling anyone about what had happened between them as to avoid things getting more complicated, and threw themselves back into work. With new cases coming for the new year, things were piled up and for the first couple weeks, they barely had time for themselves, except for that one morning every couple weeks that Robin took free to start therapy.

Although they fell back into an easy going friendship, with more affection without awkwardness as only change, Strike could see now, out of trips and reunions in St. Mawes or Masham, Robin was free to fall deep in thought about Matthew and it was heavily affecting her, even if she would not show during work hours, when she was deep in concentration and even laughing sometimes. But at lunch, when Strike offered her a pint at The Tottenham, she would drop her walls a little, something that now she felt comfortable enough to do with him. And at night, she’s break alone in her flat, but never so much to be noticeable in the morning. She did, however, keep being efficient as ever at work.

“Did Matthew already sent you more money or should I talk with his lawyer?” Ilsa asked as she put food on the table one day near the end of February, the almost five-months-old baby sitting against her hip and looking around with deep, curious eyes.

“Yeah, I got this month’s instalment two days ago,” answered Robin, bags under her eyes as she supported her jaw on her hand, sitting by the table. They were having lunch together just because they hadn’t seen much of each other in about a month, taking advantage of Zahara’s baptism an hour prior to extend the fun to lunch. Robin had come straight from her latest therapy appointment, and Strike had been updating her about work as the two set the table.

“One problem less,” Lucy smiled warmly at her as she sat next to her. Greg, Strike and Nick, who had been talking about football –the Spurs had beaten Arsenal up the night before- while finishing lunch, arrived to the dining room.

“I’m just saying, the referee was clearly in your favour,” Strike defended. “That call in the twenty-sixth minute was stupid.”

“Oh so the blood came out of nowhere?” Nick snorted a laugh, sitting down.

“You three, stop talking about football,” Ilsa rolled eyes, smiling a little while handing Nick their daughter. “Seriously, three intelligent men and all you can talk about...”

“Oh, come on sweetie, we have more fun with the friendly competition with Strike than nothing else,” Nick giggled, kissing Zahara’s forehead. “Uncle Corm follows a team of losers!” Strike rolled eyes.

“If the Arsenal is a team of losers than what’s the Spurs every time Arsenal beats their ass? A national embarrassment, that’s what they are,” Strike commented calmly, taking a long sip of his beer.

“You do realize that rule can backfire right?” Nick laughed. “Because then when the national embarrassment beats...”

“Shut up Nick,” Ilsa said sternly. “You’re giving poor Robin a headache.” She added, sitting down. In fact, Robin, sitting between Nick and Lucy, looked rather pale. She limited herself to a small smile and started eating her portion of homemade lasagne.

“How was therapy today Robin?” Greg asked politely.

“Earned myself anti-depressants but good news is I’m not suicidal,” Robin murmured dark-humorously. Strike chuckled, sharing the dark humour.

“Great, because I can’t afford putting security cameras in the office just to make sure you don’t slice your wrists with the letter-opener,” Strike retorted with the same dark humour and an amused face. Robin snorted a laugh and smiled at him.

“You two...” Lucy shook her head, with a little smile. “Depression is no joke though. We’re here for you Robin.” She added rubbing Robin’s back softly.

“Thanks Lucy,” Robin smiled a little. “I’m fine, really. It just sucks, but my therapist knows me from way back and she’s really good. Besides, Matthew has to pay for it so it’s satisfactory going knowing every visit is £85 the hour less for him.”

“£85 per hour?!” Ilsa’s eyes widened, filling Robin’s cup with wine. “Jesus Christ... how is someone supposed to take care of their mental health with those fees?”

“Insurances,” Nick shrugged. Robin snorted a laugh.

“I don’t even have one, so it really is a blessing Matthew’s paying. Otherwise I would just screw myself up,” Robin admitted.

“Otherwise the richest of our clients would pay it,” Strike corrected. “Mental health is important, I’m glad you’re caring for it.”

“Absolutely right but a bit hypocritical coming from you Mr. I don’t need help,” Lucy rolled eyes at her brother, gulping her food. Zahara had found entertainment playing with one of her parent’s dark red napkins.

“Therapy is not going to grow my leg back but it can actually help a person that believes in it,” Strike argued.

“That’s right, didn’t you study psychology?” Greg asked Lucy. “Can’t you self-care if you couldn’t pay for external help? I’ve always been curious.”

“I can attempt to it and fail as miserably as I was failing for the weeks prior going to a professional,” Robin answered. “I guess perhaps some of my old classmates can do it though.”

Strike shoot her a quick glance, seeing the way she entertained herself eating pasta without really putting much heart into eating nor into talking, and he focused on his lasagne for a bit. Robin was showing again how different to Charlotte she was; where Charlotte, who had mental issues much more complicated and troubling than Robin, refused to get helped properly –even when forced to a specialist, she wouldn’t get very invested into it-, Robin, with simpler issues but still very troubling ones, got the help she needed and invested herself fully into making things better for herself. Robin didn’t want to be shown as a sad person or a pathetic loser, she wanted to tell the story of a strong woman who struggles and fights with all she’s got to be better.

“We could go tail Ferman this weekend, all the way to Dover,” Strike offered Robin. She looked up and sighed, shaking her head apologetically.

“I’m sorry, this weekend is my uncle’s birthday and since I’ve missed it for two years in a row I promised I’d go,” said Robin. “Otherwise mum will probably come down here and stick to my arse until she’s sure I’m excellent.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“That’s okay, we’ll leave it for the next week then,” Strike smiled a little. “There’s no hurry. Have fun in Masham though, I heard it’s even snowier than here.” Robin shrugged.

“Beauty preserves better the colder,” was her simple answer, chuckling. Strike giggled, nodding in agreement. “So how’s the little one?” Robin added, smiling at Zahara and caressing her cheek with the back of a finger.

“She’s the best behaved kid in the world,” Nick smiled proudly at the little girl, who snuggled against her dad while playing with the napkin she had grabbed. Ilsa smiled at them.

“She does find entertainment with nothing,” said Ilsa. “And her paediatrician says she’s perfectly healthy now. Was a little underweight when we got her.”

“Having a family gives everyone a couple extra pounds,” Lucy chuckled at the baby.

“Honey, I’m going to have to keep going, I’ve got a meeting in an hour,” Greg said getting up.

“Alright, will you get the boys to football before or should I...?” Lucy asked looking at her husband sweetly. Strike had yet to understand why Lucy had chosen a man like Greg, that was simply boring, and he could only imagined for her it had been the antithesis of their mother, someone contraire to rebelling, and she had loved that.

“I can go, their friends’ house is on the way so I’ll quickly pick them up and get them there before the meeting,” Greg leaned to kiss Lucy. “Thanks for the lunch guys,” he added looking appreciatively at Ilsa and Nick. “Bye...”

“I’ll walk you to the door, Greg,” Ilsa offered, getting up and leaving the garden with her. She was back barely a couple minutes later. “So the boys are doing good with football then?”

Ilsa and Lucy engaged into a conversation about how much sports wore the children out and it was perfect to later have them chilling at home, besides it had benefits for their health and social life, and Strike could tell Ilsa was taking notes for when Zahara was older, since both Ilsa and Nick worked long hours and maybe everyone could benefit from having Zahara join something after school, make some friends. And suddenly, Robin started sobbing heavily, spontaneously. Strike looked at her like a red in highlights and Lucy stopped herself mid-sentence and moved to hug her, both still sitting, without saying another word.

“That’s okay sweetie, I’ve got you,” Strike said Lucy murmur against Robin’s hair motherly, squeezing her tight as the red-blonde woman cried tragically.

“I think we’ve got some of those relaxing teas...” said Ilsa going into the kitchen. Strike frowned looking at Robin, his stomach knotting. What had made Robin cry so spontaneously? Had she been thinking of Matthew while the girls discussed children stuff, or was it just depression catching her by surprise?

Ilsa came a few minutes later with a hot mug and she put it in front of Robin on the table, caressing her hair briefly as she did so. Her eyes were full of concern. Robin breathed heavily to calm herself and separated from Lucy, accepting a napkin from Nick to clean her eyes.

“I’m s-sorry,” said Robin, embarrassed and ashamed, “I should g-go...”

“Nonsense,” Nick shook his head. “We’re your friends, this is what friends are for. Take this, it’ll make you feel more relaxed.” Nick pushed the mug Ilsa had brought towards her. Ilsa and Strike, sitting in front, both looked at Robin full of concern. Robin blew her nose on the napkin, her skin, as delicate as Strike knew it to be, had already reddened furiously and her eyelids had only needed those five minutes of crying to swell. “I’m going to put Zahara to sleep and be right back.” Nick added, seeing Zahara was starting to fall asleep sitting, and got up.

Lucy rubbed slow calming patrons on Robin’s back as she drank her tea, and Strike observed the interaction touched that Lucy treated Robin like a little sister, genuinely caring for her just like he cared for her, but being smarter than him at knowing what to do. For a few minutes, Robin focused on drinking and calming herself, giving Nick more than time enough to put the baby to sleep and come back.

 


	24. You don't need to make yourself pretty(er)

“It’s just...” Robin murmured snuggled against Lucy on the sofa, as the older woman put an arm around her shoulders. They had all moved to sit on the sofa with big cups of tea, and sat around Robin attentively. “It sucks...” Robin breathed deeply. “I don’t know what’s worse, if breaking up with the man I love, with whom I shared ten fucking years of my life, or having him beat me up...” she let out a silent tear, and Lucy kissed the top of her head. “Did he ever even love me, uh? Or was it all... a lie? Ten years of a lie? Because... I gave him my all! My very best! And it was never good enough. I was never good enough. And he cheated and lied, and he manipulated and held grudges and resentments, he bullied me for the little I earned, and he was never happy enough... was I just... a nice body to fuck? And that’s it?”

“Of course not sweetie, he’s just...” Lucy sighed, not really knowing what to say. “Look, shit happened and now it’s time to move forward. You can’t change what happened...”

“Robin...” Strike had sat on the other side of her and Robin looked at him with sad eyes. “Perhaps he loved you in his own twisted way. Perhaps he didn’t know another way and he gave you the little he could, but his very best and perhaps he just got out of the wagon and fucked up badly. Or perhaps he was the fucking devil but... world is shades of grey, isn’t it? All relationships are supposed to have good and bad, and if you start questioning every part of ten years you’re going to drive yourself mad. So just close the book believing the good you saw was real, that he did genuinely love you the best he knew how to, and just... ended up going downhill. But don’t question everything. It’s the best for you.”

Robin nodded silently.

“I think I need to throw up...” Robin murmured suddenly, getting up.

“You know where the bathroom is,” Ilsa looked at her back sadly as Robin disappeared into the bathroom and shortly after, they heard her throw up. “Poor thing...”

Strike genuinely felt like punching Matthew to death and running to help Robin at once, but instead he did none of those and he just sat back and waited patiently until Robin came back, looking pale, dragging her feet, and having washed her mouth and face in the sink so thoroughly even her make-up had come off. Then Strike pulled her to sit on his lap and Robin, too tired to argue, snuggled in his lap and a moment later had fallen asleep against his chest, dragged to Morpheus’ arms by the soft scent of Strike, his warmth and his hugeness enveloping her.

It was however a short nap. Her eyes opened barely twenty minutes later, and found she had drooled over Strike’s shirt, but he kept his arms tightly around her and was silently caressing her hair, so he didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s fine,” said Strike as he saw Robin notice the drooling. “Are you feeling better?”

“I feel like all my organs are twisting and tossing,” Robin murmured, too tired to sit up and just leaning against his chest.

“Are you sleeping at night Robin, did your therapist give you something for that?” Nick asked worriedly and with his doctor vein on point.

“Yeah, she did... but so many pills make my stomach sick. I’ve been throwing up like crazy so...” Robin shrugged. “Most of the time I only take the protector for the stomach and the antidepressants. Crying brings me to sleep well enough.” Her voice sounded pained and miserable, weak and hoarse, and her eyes didn’t open fully. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. Matthew... who would’ve thought?”

“Hey at least you aren’t locking yourself somewhere,” said Strike with his characteristic dark humour. Robin snorted a laugh and nodded.

“I really feel sick though. Like, the idea of walking home right now sounds... challenging,” Robin recognized.

“I’ll drive you to the flat so you can sleep the rest of the day off, sounds good?” Lucy offered. “Can drive you to the doctor too if you want.” Robin nodded silently.

“Home sounds good, thanks...”

“I’ll make you something to settle that stomach before you go,” Nick got up and went to the kitchen to make one of his gastroenterology beverages, and once Robin was all done and ready, Lucy drove her and Strike to the flat.

Strike helped Robin into her pyjamas –the advantage of having seen her naked already was that now she didn’t mind those things- and tucked her into bed.

“Could you...” Robin blushed. “Snuggle with me? My teddy bear is not going to be good enough right now.” She added embarrassed. Strike smiled softly and nodded, getting rid of his prosthesis, changing into his boxers and underwear t-shirt, and sliding under the duvet next to Robin, who immediately clung to him like a monkey, humming contently as his warmth enveloped her as he put his arms around her. “You’re so warm, so soft...”

“Anything you need, Robin. Anything,” said Strike, breathing more relaxed himself as he felt her relax in his arms. It was barely three in the afternoon, but Strike felt like he could sleep if it was like that, with Robin nuzzled into his chest like a kitten, her perfume filling his nostrils. “I care so much about you Robin. So, so much.” Strike murmured against her hair, closing his eyes.

“Me too, Corm.” Robin murmured sleepily before falling asleep.

Robin woke up hours later, still hugging Strike and being hugged by him in return. Strike had barely slept and was already awake, squeezing Robin tightly as he had noticed she had a nightmare or two while she slept.

“Hey,” Strike smiled sweetly at her as she looked up to see him. “You slept a ton. Feeling better now?”

“Yeah...” Robin smiled a little. She felt anaesthetised and calm, content, warm. “Thanks for staying Cormoran, you’re a sweetie.” She leaned on impulse and kissed his forehead before getting up. “I’m going to shower, do you fancy dinner?”

“I’ll get on with it,” Strike offered, blushed by her kiss and fumbling to put on his prosthesis and clothes.

While Robin showered, Strike found ingredients enough in her microscopic kitchen to make some dinner and started cutting ingredients and preparing their meals, making sure there was plenty of vegetables and fruit so Robin could get a good load of vitamins and proteins and all that nice stuff his mother had always claimed the green stuff had. Robin took his breath away a few minutes later, as he was finishing up, when she came in her pyjamas, her hair dried with the hairdryer but not brushed, so she looked more like a lion than ever.

“That smells delicious,” Robin admired with a chuckle, and then caught his eyes on her. “Don’t say it, I wasn’t feeling like brushing it...”

“I was just thinking you look beautiful,” Strike blurted out, interrupting her and blushing heavily in the process. But Strike was innate in honesty and couldn’t help it. Robin blushed too, but smiled nevertheless. “It’s a privilege to see you all natural...” he murmured under his breath.

“Thank you,” Robin looked appreciatively at him. “You’re so good to me, Cormoran. I don’t know what I did to d...”

“Don’t,” Strike frowned, turning the stove off and looking at her attentively. “Of course you deserve it, Robin, this and everything else. If you didn’t, then who would?” Robin’s eyes got teary and she hugged him.

“You’re the best I’ve got Corm. The best fucking thing I’ve got,” Robin murmured into his chest.

“No...” Strike denied, one of his big hands cupping the back of her head and his free hand on the small of her back. “You are the best fucking thing you’ve got. Someone who has you as _everything_.” Robin squeezed tighter and breathed deeply, trying her best not to cry.

The two had dinner on the sofa, while watching a terrible mock of a movie on the laptop and laughing of it, and then they fell asleep cuddled on the sofa. When Strike woke up and realized how they were he feared Robin would flip and be uncomfortable in the morning, so grunting and with his leg hating him, he pulled Robin to his arms and carried her to the bed, tucking her in with her giant teddy bear before going to the sofa, tucking himself with a little blanket, and falling asleep again.

 


	25. Grounded

That’s how Robin found him in the morning, as she came to the small sitting room wrapped in her house coat. She smiled gently as she saw Strike snoring away on the sofa, too small for him with a too small blanket in a freezing February night. She felt touched he had decided to put her in bed and take the sofa probably to avoid causing more awkwardness with her, and her heart filled with what she could only identify as intense gratitude, appreciation and affection towards the older man. However, Robin also felt a little guilty that Strike was probably cold, so she went to her bed, grabbed the duvet, and carefully tucked Strike with it in the tiny sofa, stuffing her pillow under Strike’s head, which woke him up.

“Shit, Robin, sorry, did I...?” he started grumbling. Robin shook her head and smiled.

“I just wanted to make you more comfortable,” Robin confessed, blushing. “You sleep a little more, I’ll make breakfast.” With that, she disappeared into the kitchen. Strike’s eyes followed her for a little while, touched by her gesture, and then closed his eyes, the eyelids falling with the weight of sleepless nights worried about the red-blonde haired woman.

It was a few minutes later that the nice smells from the kitchen woke him up and he got up and stretched with a groan. Strike then remembered he had yet to use any of the thirty-seven free coupons that Robin had gifted him for his birthday. They weren’t very big, so they fit in the inside pocket of his large coat, and he took them out, took a pen from the same pocket, and wrote the first coupon. Then he ripped it off the coupons’ notebook and put it all back in the pocket except for the one written coupon, with which he enthusiastically walked to the kitchen. To his surprise, Robin was cooking with a pale face and there were silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Hearing her steps, Robin quickly brushed them off with her sleeve and turned, smiling at him.

“Lunch is almost ready.” She announced with a false happiness. Strike, by all answer, walked to her and handed her the coupon. Robin looked at it for a moment and then smiled, turning and giving him a hug. She stayed hugging him for a long while partially because the coupon said ‘long, tight, warm hug’ and partially because she had a hard time deciding to let go.

“You don’t have to pretend for me Robin,” Strike whispered as he hugged her back, burying his face in her hair. Robin let out a long, shaky breath. “I know you’re very sad. I know you’re very hurt. I know you’re having a hard time trusting people and how scared you are of giving your heart out to someone else, opening up again and letting someone in because they could break you in pieces if you do, all over again. I know… because I’ve been there, sort of. So I won’t expect you to just stop feeling all of that just because it’s me, I won’t expect you to magically trust me and open up to me like you’ve always done just because it’s me, because I know what Matthew’s making you feel is not going away just because you’re talking with someone different. I know it’s gonna be as if we all had done to you what he did. But,” he pulled apart, cupping her face and removing her tears with his thumbs. Her sad eyes looked at her all wet, “just because you can’t believe that I care, that I’ll stick around, that I’ll be loyal and honest to you, don’t expect me to let you down, even if you’re sure I will. ‘Cause I won’t.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin cried, looking at him full of pain. “You d-don’t d-deserve…”

“I don’t deserve to have such an amazing best friend and such an incredible partner, I know,” Strike smiled at her. “It doesn’t mean I won’t spend the rest of my life fucking trying to deserve you, though.” He could feel his ears warm because he knew he was saying far too much. That Robin wasn’t supposed to know how every day it became clearer to him how his feelings for the younger woman weren’t strictly professional and not even strictly friendly.

Robin’s eyes widened in acknowledgement, too smart to not see, and she hugged him again. Strike reached out to turn off the stove behind Robin, and hugged her back.

“I’m very sorry about everything that has happened to you, Robin.” Strike added in a whisper, as she sobbed against his shoulder. He truly felt every single word to the chore.

It took Robin a long while to finally pull out of the embrace but when she did, something in her eyes looked like a weight had been lifted. Strike said nothing as he focused on putting everything in plates and readying the table, and Robin sat down to a warm home-cooked meal that she didn’t feel so enthusiastic for. They ate in silence for a while until Robin felt more recovered.

“How do you do it?” Robin asked, and Strike gave her a questioning look, which made her elaborate. “To shove all the pain inside and not let anyone see unless you’re super drunk. To look happy and normal even when you don’t feel like it.”

“I look happy and normal?” Strike snorted a laugh. “You thought I was forty when I was only thirty-five!” he laughed. Robin smiled a little and he sighed, looking at her warmly. “Everyone has their coping mechanisms, Robin. I was trained to see blood and to cause it, to kill if I had to, to torture if I had to. I was trained to shove it all in and show up for work and do my job professionally without letting my heart interfere, or my lack of sleep… I was trained. And I saw friends die all the time, I couldn’t afford to crumble after each of them. So I learnt not to cry, not to crumble, not to…” he sighed and shrugged. Robin nodded in understanding.

“Sounds cruel. Not to be able to… show humanity that much.”

“Perhaps it is,” Strike reflected. “I loved the army though. I loved my job and I only quit the army when I became of certain age and I had managed not to completely become one of them… and I decided to go before it happened. My uncle was a Red Cap too, a Sergeant too, everything I was… and he dropped very young, for my same reasons, so I knew what I had to do,” Strike explained, opening up to Robin already becoming a normal task, effortless. “The problem when you’re a soldier is that you develop very unhealthy coping mechanisms. Remember when I told you I had a reputation in the army for not developing hangovers? Well imagine how often and how hard we all got drunk. Sometimes it’s the only way to survive killing someone… or seeing a friend die. It’s the method I know and it’s the method I always use and I’m happy you don’t. My method gives you a hell of a hangover, makes you sick, and it doesn’t make you forget. It just makes you stupefied to the pain for a while. But you’re different Robin. You wear your heart on your sleeve, because you’re so, so brave, braver than all of us.” Robin blushed.

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get hurt like this. It wouldn’t feel so bad.”

“You wouldn’t be you, Robin,” replied Strike. “I see how much everyone loves your personality, including myself. And the first few words anyone uses to describe you are kind, empathetic, loving, caring, intelligent, brave, selfless… I’d carry each word like a medal, Robin. I’d be proud of that. You’re achieving so much with that. And yes, it makes you feel so much you feel your organs torn but… it also makes you live life more intensely, to the fullest. And it also means that you’ll also feel the good things three times stronger. So when you finally fall in love for the right person, and this person falls in love with you… it’s going to be so healing for you, Robin. Because love heals everything. Is the most powerful thing there is.” He spoke calmly as he ate like a starving giant and drank his pint of Doom Bar –of which Robin usually kept her fridge stocked- like a man who just survived ten days in the desert in August.

Robin looked at him intensely, both shocked and touched, feeling overwhelmed at the perspective that there was so much inside of Strike, so much roughness and sharp edges, yes, but also so much love and poetry and delicacy, soft, warm corners, and she was thirsty to know it all and privileged that he let her see that depth that she doubted many people knew.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be like that anymore, Corm. I don’t see what sense it has,” confessed Robin. “It hurts so badly. The betray, the physical pain, the lack of love, the egoism… it’s one of the reasons I wanted to be a detective, because like a good Libra, I despise unfairness and it hurt so much to see all the unfairness in the world that I wanted to make it a little fairer. I figured if I could always find the truth, if I could give people some peace of mind with the knowledge they needed to keep going… things would be a little bit better. If I could just be a little bit like you, just a little bit… but I can’t. I’m too soft, too… and people take advantage and then I can’t be strong enough to have my heart on my sleeve… and…” Robin seemed to be out of breath and she looked at him with slight panic in her eyes. Strike reached out a hand over the table and squeezed her hand.

“Breathe,” a soft smile appeared in Strike’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous, Robin. You’re not only a bit like me… you’re better. You have the guts I lack. I would’ve never let my insides so exposed, my heart on my sleeve… and that’s why everyone always like you more than they like me. You’re the bravest person there is, Robin. And the strongest. Just because right now it feels like you don’t have the energy in you anymore, or whatever, it doesn’t mean that’s any less true… it just means is time to take a break.” Robin nodded slowly.

“Do you think I’ll ever be the same again?” she asked after a couple minutes of silence, her voice a low whisper.

“No,” Strike recognised, leaving his empty glass on the table. Robin had barely touched her food. “I think you’ll crumble. But I think you will raise stronger, greater… you’re just a fighter, that’s in you. The flames will never burn you to the ground, you’ll just absorb them and grow. You’ll change and evolve many times in live… and like fine wine, you’ll get better.”

“Will you promise me something Corm?”

“Anything.”

“That you’ll keep me grounded. That you’ll make sure no matter how much I change, pain never transforms me into a monster. That if I lose it, I come back home. Promise me you’ll always bring me home.” Robin looked at him with glassy eyes and a broken soul, and Strike fixed his eyes on her and then nodded.

“I promise.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a while any of my stories, but truth is the lack of reviews makes me think no one cares if I update this or not so I figure why lose my time grabbing the laptop and updating when I could be doing other stuff? I truly do enjoy writing and for me, I get the same joy even if I don't publish. The entire fic is written, I already had joy with it, publishing is only to share it if people like it.
> 
> Finally I've decided to put up this chapter, but I've decided I won't publish any other of this story unless I get 5 reviews, and that way I can filter and don't lose time updating stories that don't interest much in favour of updating more often those that do get petitions for more chapters. After all, a writer doesn't publish another book of a saga if the one before is not bought. This will go on until this story ends, if you get to see the end. This is not out of anger or anything, not really, but I think us fanfic writers need to have some pride, you know? I think we work very hard to create aditional content, and if no one cares we're equally happy writing it for ourselves and don't losing time putting it up online only so someone can steal the work (which happens very often) but we get 0 credit.


	26. Oh no

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPECIAL THANK YOU AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO: Nessa_Val, GinnyW1981, shyvioletgirl, Zolena. You are all wonderful and never have to apologize if a comment is not what you would call awesome, because to me, every little one is. I'm just very busy with life at the moment ;) Thank you for all you do.
> 
> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU

When Robin came back from her weekend up in Masham, she seemed more cheerful and relaxed. Strike hoped it would last long, and then he started finding her drinking at pubs during the night, after she had announced she was going home, when Strike himself would go for a drink. At first he’d join her, but a couple times he just silently observed her, asking the bartender, a good friend of his from years going to The Tottenham, to keep him posted, keeping a good eye on her. Every now and then, he’d still let Robin notice him and join her. Every night she drank more than the night before, got drunker, and Strike, after the bartender had reported to him, started frequently accompanying her, staying sober, and going home with her.

He'd cook her meals, give her the medicines the therapist prescribed, held her hair back when she threw up. And the next morning she would apologize profusely, cry, she would feel horrified with herself. But then she was back at work and Strike had no complaints, because she was as efficient as always, but he would send her to jobs outside more often, finding that maybe outside was less depressing, and she always seemed eager to be let out of the cage. Then the visits to therapy became as frequent as thrice a week. And one night at the end of March, James called him saying Robin was really bad and he had absolutely no idea what to do. They had been informally seeing each other with certain frequency and James cared for Robin and kept Strike posted if he saw anything suspicious, and Strike knew from him that lately taking her to the cinema or –Strike blushed furiously at that- making her cum with his tongue or fingers wasn’t working at all to make her a bit happier. She drank way more at their ‘dates’ too.

That fatidic night Strike had just been having dinner with Ilsa and Nick, so they left Zahara at Nick’s parents’ house and the three of them drove in Ilsa’s car to Robin’s flat in a rush.

“Hurry up!” James rushed them opening the main door of the flat. “I tried to stop her, but she’s drank like a bottle of wine by herself, and I think she had already drunk one when I came here. She’s just passed out on the sitting room. She was crying so much, she was so bad…”

“Aren’t you a doctor?” Strike growled as they rushed inside. Robin was, in fact, passed out on the floor and Nick knelt next to her.

“I am, but a paediatrician,” James cleared, kneeling next to Robin with Nick. “I can’t give her meds if she’s drunk because I could kill her, and I tried to manage her mental breakdown using my own experience, which always works, but it didn’t today. I lost control of the situation before I even saw it coming.”

“Robin,” Nick palmed her face. “Wake up… shit, is she even breathing?”

“Yeah,” James nodded. “I checked, steady pulse, although I’d say the tension’s a bit too low, but it’s normal given the circumstances. I don’t know if maybe she took the antidepressants while drunk before I came… I splashed her with water, but I think we should just make her puke and get her in the shower.”

“Yes, but if it’s already in the blood it won’t do much,” Nick responded, grabbing Robin and, carrying her in his strong, athletic arms, getting her to the shower stall, where he sat her, back against the wall, and removed her blouse and her pants, handing them to Ilsa before grabbing the mop bucket Strike had found and putting it on Robin’s lap. Then he used one hand to open her mouth, and stuck a finger inside just enough to give her gag reflex.

Nick had just enough time to retrieve his hand before Robin puked inside the bucket, heaving. Ilsa had gone to her bedroom to find her dry pyjamas and James and Strike stood by the door, not looking to give them some privacy. They stood and waited until the sounds of Robin’s heaving and throwing up stopped and then they heard the toilet’s cistern and the shower. Robin yelped as Nick, nonchalantly, directed the cold water on top of her.

“Fuck!” Robin shouted, finally semi brightening up. “Fuck, stop Nick!”

“That should do,” Nick turned the shower off. “How are you feeling? You gave us quite the scare, Robin...”

“I need to throw up,” Nick passed the bucket again and Robin threw up bile, that was all that was left. Nick cleaned the bucket in the toilet while Robin removed her soaked underwear and got into her bath coat.

After Robin changed into her pyjamas she still felt physically ill, so Nick closed her bedroom door to examine her in private. Nick palpated her stomach for any signs of organ swelling from the amount of drinking, irritation, illness... Robin shut her eyes close, feeling the headache of her life and incredible dizziness.

“Robin,” Nick muttered after a while. “Have you gained some weight lately?”

“Perhaps a few pounds, but this isn’t moment to c...”

“Are your breasts sensitive?” Robin opened her eyes and scowled at him.

“What?” Nick looked nervous.

“Are your breasts sensitive? I mean... abnormally. Or bigger or...” he shrugged. Robin looked down at her breasts. She had been noticing them growing a little, the bras she had started to be a little tight.

“I don’t know, maybe?” Robin murmured, exhausted. “Look I just need a little...”

“I think you’re pregnant,” Nick interrupted her in a whisper. Robin snorted a laugh.

“Nick, honey, that’s impossible. James and I haven’t...” Robin motioned with a hand, and Nick nodded silently.

“Well...” Nick pursed his lips. “Your abdomen is a little swollen. Tight. But your organs feel okay, if anything your stomach might be a little irritated. And you weight more and when I removed your pants before, they looked very tight on you, they even left mark on your hips. So...” he shrugged and sighed, looking serious at Robin. “I’m not here to meddle or judge, Robin, right now I’m just being a doctor alright? You either have something very wrong or you’re pregnant. So please, think, is it possible that in the last three months you had sex with someone and maybe you don’t remember?”

Robin looked at him for a moment, scowling, and then her scowl turned into shock and she gasped, her hands on her mouth.

“Oh no!” Robin yelped under her hands, lying down. “But it can’t be... I took the pill...” Nick nodded, slowly.

“I’m not a specialist, but pills can fail. You might’ve mistaken with the dose, or taken it in the wrong moment, it happens sometimes, it’s a complex schedule and it’s sometimes very confusing as far as Ilsa has told me,” said Nick, always comprehensive and understanding.

“I’m pregnant?” Robin whispered-yelled. Nick shrugged.

“We should go to the doctor and have you properly checked, I may be wrong... but make your own conclusions. Nausea, headaches, you’ve been saying you felt physically ill for a while. You’ve gained weight, your belly is showing a little, your breasts are changing... you know how this looks.”

“But I thought it was because of my feelings and depression and...” Robin closed her eyes, throwing an arm over her face. “Shit I’ve drank so hard Nick, the baby...”

“You may still suffer from mental health,” Nick clarified. “But those same symptoms are also symptoms of pregnancy. Your hormones should’ve gone crazy... didn’t you notice when the period wasn’t coming?” Robin shook her head, feeling like crying.

“The doctor said it might’ve been because of my emotions or secondary effects of the pills, I had a blood test yesterday but the results haven’t come yet...” Robin chocked a sob. She was physically shaking and Nick moved to hug her, bringing her to his arms. Strike opened the door, hearing her muffled sobs from outside.

“What’s going on?” Strike demanded, scowling.

“Get out Oggy,” Nick said sternly. “Please, get out.” Strike scowled further, but left the room.

“He’s the father,” Robin cried, saying it only in a small whisper, pulling apart to look at Nick, whose widened eyes fixed on her. “W-we s-slept t-together,” Robin sobbed out, her face white and swollen with tears, “o-on N-New Year’s...”

“Oh, Robin...”

“He hates c-children he n-never wanted t-them...” Robin cried tragically, panicking. “H-How am I g-gonna t-tell him?”

It took twenty minutes, but finally Nick and a fully dressed Robin emerged from the bedroom, both looking serious and rather pale. Strike sat anxiously with James and Ilsa and got up right away.

“What’s wrong?” Strike asked, stressed, his eyes travelling from Nick to Robin. “Are you sick?”

“Give me a moment Corm,” Robin smiled weakly and approached James, who stood up. “Can I talk to you in private for a moment?”

Robin took James aside, apologised for her conduct and behaviour and promised to take care of herself and that she was alright for the night, and accompanied him to the door. Once he was gone, Robin went back to Ilsa, Nick and Strike. She still felt rather dizzy, with a pounding headache, a knot in her stomach and desire to puke and cry at once, but she breathed deeply to pull herself together.

“I’m feeling a little sick, Nick insisted he doesn’t think there’s something really bad with me,” Robin assured them so Strike could stop looking about to lose it. “But Nick advised to get me to the hospital tonight because of how sick I feel. I drank too much and I don’t remember if or when I took my antidepressants, I might’ve mixed so...”

“Better to have her checked,” Nick said.

“Alright,” said Ilsa. “Alright, let’s go, I’ll drive you.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU


	27. Happy news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Robin decide to go for what scares them the most.

**Chapter 27:**

After spending the night in the hospital having more tests than ever in her life, a much more pulled together Robin was released and, since she had gotten to the hospital at near four in the morning and it was just past lunch, she decided not to call anyone to pick her up and walked herself home, showered, changed, took a deep breath and appeared at the office, where a very anxious Strike was talking with a client that he dispatched rather too soon as he noticed Robin had arrived.

“I’ll call you, thanks...” Strike closed the main door after the client and turned to look at Robin, who smiled at him handing him a mug of tea and taking another herself. Strike looked as if he hadn’t slept at all, while she was, although pale and with bags under her eyes, looking quite fine. “Thank God, Robin, you scared the shit out of... what happened?” Robin locked the main door and motioned for the farting sofa, on which they sat.

“I’m not going to beat about the bush,” said Robin before taking a deep breath and looking at him in the eye. “When we had sex on December 31st I made some kind of mistake taking the pills, something failed, and I am pregnant. You’re the father. And I swear on my parents this isn’t an April Fool’s joke.” It was in fact April 1st. Strike’s hands shook so Robin took the mug from his hands and he opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish out of the water, frowning, then undoing the frown, and Robin was for a moment afraid he’d throw up. Finally he let a long breath out and supported his face in his hands, using them to cover it. Robin set their mugs on her desk and sat again beside him. “I’m thirteen weeks pregnant today and since I’ve drank a lot and taken meds without knowing I was pregnant, they’ve made many tests to check the baby, but the results aren’t ready yet... however the doctor said that it looked fine, just a bit smaller than usual maybe, but fine... anyway, here’s a picture.” Robin pulled an envelope out of her purse, that sat on her desk, and handed it to Strike.

Strike slowly removed his hands from his face and, looking pale, accepted the envelope with a shaky hand, opening it and... not knowing what he was looking at.

“Oh...” he breathed out, confused. On the top he could read ‘Ellacott, Robin’, among other things, but that was as far as his understanding went. Robin smiled a little, nervous, and pointed to a circle.

“That’s the head, the nose... two hands right there...” explained Robin. Strike’s eyebrows raised and he nodded a little, petrified, looking at it. “We don’t know the gender yet. The doctor said maybe next month or so...” she shrugged. “Look, seeing this... I don’t feel comfortable having an abortion and I don’t think it’s necessary or responsible. This isn’t the right time, yes, but I eventually wanted children and I have to be consequent and responsible with my actions Corm. I did something irresponsible when I was drunk and now I am pregnant, and I have no valid reason to abort it. Firstly, the baby is fucking thirteen weeks, look at it. How am I going to kill something I’ve seen, with a heartbeat I’ve heard? Secondly... I’m a grown up adult with her own flat and a job. Yes, I may need economical help from my parents, but that’s really the biggest complication of this. For all else, I’m twenty-eight this year and I believe I can do this. I want to do this... which is why I’m not considering adoption either. This is our baby, Cormoran. I’m not going to reject it and give it to God knows who, just because having it will make my life pretty complicated now, this child doesn’t deserve it, this child isn’t to blame for our mistakes... and I can love it, give it a home, warm food, a bed to sleep at night... we’ll be tight on money, but we will make it. I’m a badass woman, I’ll find a way, it’s just like a very complicated case I’ll be figuring out for the rest of my life, and my family will be thrilled to help... So I’m sorry, but I’m not taking a no for an answer. I am having it and loving it.”

Strike nodded slowly.

“Okay...” he breathed out, his eyes still fixed in the photograph.

“However,” Robin continued, breathing out. “I know you have never wanted children and that you don’t quite like them and I won’t force you to be a father. I’ve already thought it all out, alright? And listen, this can be as if you donated sperm to me, I’ll be a single mother, is okay. I’ll tell the baby its father is a good man who simply wasn’t born to be a father, a war hero, a fighter for justice... I’ll have so many good things to tell it about you, Cormoran,” Robin smiled sadly at him. Strike fixed her eyes on her, pale. “There won’t be hard feelings. No resentment. If you’re more comfortable with me not working here so you don’t have to see the baby, I’ll find another job, Wardle offered me one right? I mean, is something I can do. And if you don’t mind I can stay here, but you don’t have to be its father unless you truly want to. I don’t want you to feel forced, I don’t want you to do this just because you feel is the right thing to do and then resent me or the baby... Look, only Nick knows it’s you, and he swore to keep the secret, and we’ll both understand, no one will judge you. No one else has to know. But if you do want to be a father, Corm... we can do this. We’re not together, I know, but we’re best friends, right? And we usually agree on everything, right? The baby can stay with you one week, with me the next... we’re together here at work while it’s the youngest, we can be a dysfunctional family even, living together like flatmates who have a baby. We can sort it out, right? But I’m perfectly fine doing this alone if you’re not okay with this.”

Robin shut up and for a moment, Strike just looked at her. Then, he gulped, looked again at the baby in the ultrasound, and let a shaky breath out.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked after a while, looking at Robin and putting a hand on her knee. “I’m asking because I’m worried, Robin. You’re still pale and last night... and you’ve been feeling so sick and...” Robin smiled touched, her eyes watery. Even with such shocking news, his first concern was her, once cleared out the baby’s status.

“I’m okay,” said Robin, then snorted a laugh. “It’s ridiculous, actually. I met with my therapist, my physician and my obstetrician-gynaecologist this morning and they had been discussing my case and said it’s very likely I wasn’t properly diagnosed from the start. They think I have been dealing with a lot emotionally and mentally and it apparently got out of control because my hormones were all over the place and since I already had a ton on me, I just lost it, that I am not clinically depressed, just... unbalanced. Now, knowing what’s happening we made a plan to balance my hormones, I’ll keep going to therapy frequently to keep my mind controlled and I’m getting vitamin supplements and those things,” Strike nodded, understanding. “Fatigue, tiredness, nausea, different aches... all symptoms of pregnancy. They said biggest chance, the majority of that came from the baby and not from my personal struggles, or that at least the pregnancy worsened it all considerably, and that from now on it should all improve. I’ll just go to bed early and well, they gave me an enormous list of things I can do to take care of myself and the baby, including exercise so... I should be getting way better now. I do feel way better. Nervous, anxious... but in a good way. Kind of excited too. For the rest of my pregnancy, I’m forbidden alcohol, smoking, caffeine, unapproved meds, etc. They said to take it easy and listen to my body, take a nap when I feel like it, which could be often between my emotions and the pregnancy, and I’ve been doing stress-management techniques with my therapist, so it really is all handled.”

Strike realised then Robin’s tea wasn’t her usual, but a ‘relax’ infusion of herbs, no caffeine. He nodded slowly, feeling a weight had been lifted off his chest, and looked back at Robin.

“I will not leave you alone, Robin,” Strike stated after a couple minutes deep in thought. “I care for you and for that baby. I do. And I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re both alright, so I’m sorry but expect over-protectiveness in extremis.” Robin snorted a laugh and he smiled at her.

“I never expected any less.”

“And I’ve got an idea that I think is better than anything you’ve proposed,” Strike added, taking her hand and holding it between his hands, looking nervously at her. Robin fixed her eyes on him. “Go on a date with me. Give yourself a chance to discover how it is you truly feel for me... and let’s try, Robin. Not for our child, let’s try for us, because we deserve a love story, a good one. And if it goes wrong, fine. We still have a child in common so for its sake, we will manage to be friends and behave because we don’t have another option, but you’re going to regret it if we never give ourselves a chance Robin, if we give up before we start just because of the what ifs. Because it’s just like when I made this agency. It could all have gone to hell and at times I thought it would, but now is one of the best things to have ever happened to me... it led me to you. So what if? What if we try, and we fall in love and we raise a baby together? What if the best story is about to begin? Do you wanna miss out just because of fear?” He was giving her puppy eyes and she cracked a smile. His illusion was contagious and for a moment, now that she knew most of her mental wreck had come from the child inside of her, she thought that maybe she did love him. That it wouldn’t be so crazy to believe. Matthew’s story had ended five months ago... and maybe way sooner. Maybe a year ago, when she found out of his infidelity and maybe her heart had been slowly going to Strike’s arms ever since.

“I read once,” said Robin. “That if something scares you shitless then you should really do it, because it will probably be one of your best adventures... because best things in life are often complicated and worth every effort.” Strike smiled, and nodded. Robin had never seen him look like that, eyes bright, skin bright with excitement.

“Exactly,” Strike brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I know it’s going to be hard, I know I can be a pain in the ass of a boyfriend at times but damn... I’d try my hardest for you two, Robin. I know my biggest regret would be not even trying. I can probably say the same about parenting,” he shrugged. “I know I never wanted to be a father, but I also know I’m not capable of being Jonny and turning my back on both of you. I know I wouldn’t forgive myself, ever... and I know I will love this baby. I know it will be just like you, coming to my life at first unwanted and make me miss it when it’s not around, make me excited about seeing it every day, make me happier, make me love it and want it around forever, until there comes a day that I can’t imagine my life without it. I may keep disliking other children... but never something that’s partially yours. Never our baby. It will be scary and I probably will be a disaster most of the time, the weirdest father in the world, and our baby will wonder the fuck I’m made of, but I will provide for my family, care for my family and love my family and always continue to try my best no matter how hard it is.” Robin beamed, a tear falling down her cheek. She moved her hands from his grasp to cup his face.

“Are you serious Corm? Are you sure about this?” Strike shrugged.

“Life is about to get super complicated for good, Robin,” Strike chuckled. “I guess I could fuck up big time because I have zero idea how to deal with babies or children and I find most of them unbearable but...” he shrugged. “My mother was a complete disaster and we turned out mostly fine right?” Robin snorted a laugh and he smiled. “She didn’t raise a coward, Robin. I’m many things, but I’m not someone who’d ever turn his back on you two. And you’re right, we have to be responsible and consequent. I was careless, and I’ll take care of it. Cheers to mistakes that brought you and our little wonder into my life, right?” Robin sniffled, nodding with a smile. Strike rubbed his eyes, impatiently.

“Besides this child will be part you so chances are, it’s the weirdest adult-child in the world and you adore it,” Robin joked hoarsely. Strike laughed and nodded.

“Yeah!” he nodded. “However if I ever seem done with it...”

“I’ll know it’s just exhaustion talking,” Robin smiled and he nodded. “Kiss me, arse.” Strike snorted a laugh, and let her hands lead him to her, kissing her sweetly, softly, and putting his strong arms around her. They both smiled against each other’s lips.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, so I wasn't planning on updating anytime soon despite my compromise, the schedule of updates I had made, and my devotion, because life got really hectic, as I'm finishing my studies right now, and I'm only months away from graduating, so I've been studying, I've got exams now, and I've been having many classworks to do and also internship for 4 months, plus add I have job(s), so it's been CHAOTIC.
> 
> But I was just checking in, since I haven't even seen my AoO profile in a while, and the reviews were just so pretty I HAD TO upload. I promise to reply to each comment one by one the minute I have time.
> 
> Thank you all. You're wonderful people and I hope you have a great day.


	28. Imagine it better

Strike’s lips curved into a smile as he felt feather kisses over his chest, shoulders, clavicles, up to his neck, then all over his face and finally, in his lips. Warm, silk lips pressed against his own slowly but intensely, tongues tentatively touching each other. Nipples pressed against his chest, a firmer belly against his chubby one, delicate, soft hands cupping his face while his calloused, big fingers travelled trough smooth, pale, freckled-covered skin, and hums of content.

His eyes finally opened and the darkness of his eyes sank in the blue-grey skies of Robin’s eyes, bright, with light, long eyelashes, freckles covering the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, so visible from that close, and her lips curving into a beaming smile.

“Good morning,” said Robin with a melodious voice, brushing their noses together before kissing him again. Strike hummed happily as her lips travelled to his neck, nibbling the rough skin and soothing it with her tongue.

“The best of them,” Strike murmured as a reply.

They had had sex in the office, against the desk, on the desk, on the chair... they had had sex in his bed, which they hadn’t left in almost seventeen hours more than to go to the bathroom, and although their energies for it were mostly no longer present, they enjoyed the snuggling, the light kisses, the just enjoying their mutual company.

Strike felt Robin’s nose nuzzled against his neck and how she breathed out, content, so he pulled the duvet up to their necks making sure she was well covered, and put his strong arms around her, pressing her close. Robin’s nose was full of his scent –sweat, shaving cream, and what she suspected was shower gel- and she nuzzled in further, smiled against his clavicle, and hummed happily. There was nothing like lying on top of Cormoran’s firm, broad body, soft by the couple extra stones and still tough enough, strong, powerful. It felt like being on top of a mountain and, as she fondly remembered, he had made her felt in the top of the world more than once. She had counted over twelve powerful orgasms in less than twenty-four hours, and she knew she had more than Strike, who always put her first and seemed content with giving her not just one, but two orally before daring to look for his own. And he never went down there without her seeing the stars.

Robin was mesmerized by uncovering, now that they were both perfectly sober, what having sex with Strike –or was it making love?- really was about, and wondered if it was like that with all of his women, although a voice in her head told her it wasn’t. Strike, despite his enormous size and his strength, was the sweetest, most delicate lover. He put you first, asked for consent several times, read your body language like a master. He knew exactly what you needed and when you needed it, and could be both light like a feather and strong and powerful like a volcano. Robin had had both.

“Perhaps we should shower, get dressed, feel the fresh air,” Robin suggested after a while, mostly kidding. She was warm and happy in her cocoon, Strike knew she had no real intention of leaving it.

“Or we could stay here,” Strike counter-offered. Robin giggled against his neck, making him grin bigger, loving the sound.

“What can I say after such powerful argument,” joked Robin, squeezing him.

“We need to take advantage before your belly is too big to lay chest against chest,” Strike kissed her forehead.

“I agree,” Robin’s lips pressed against his neck. “Gosh, I hate having to recognize Matthew was right with you and I. Here we are...”

“He wasn’t right, you never cheated and I never made a move,” Strike moved his face to kiss hers, thirsty for her touch. “Everyone knew there was sexual tension here.”

“Did they?” Robin’s eyes looked up to his, smiling curious. Strike nodded, finding her lips, already swollen and red. “Wow, can’t wait for their faces.” Strike’s phone rang and he groaned as he threw an arm to the night stand.

“Hi Ilsa,” he said, putting the phone against his ear after seeing the screen and accepting the call. “How’re things?”

“That’s what I’d like to know,” said Ilsa, straight to the point.

“So has Nick spilled the beans?”

“He refuses, which is why you’re coming home for dinner, so the secrets stop because my husband can’t be keeping big beans away from me,” Strike chuckled.

“Alright, I’ll shower and be there for lunch then...”

“Bring Robin!”

“Will do – hey, Ilsa!” Strike remembered suddenly. “Can Lucy come too? You know, so all the beans can be spilled at once and this doesn’t feel like a long coming out process...”

“I’ll call her, gosh, you’re fucking intriguing sometimes...” Strike laughed at her frustration.

Phone call ended, Strike told Robin everything and she laughed.

“Okay so how do we...?” Robin shrugged. “Hi so, Cormoran and I shagged the 31st and long story short you’re all going to have a new nephew or a niece.” Strike laughed.

“God, you’re perfect,” Strike kissed her.

A while Strike prepared breakfast for them both, extra for Robin because of ‘Little Bean’, they sexed a shower away and got dressed between stops to kiss. Strike put on his favourite pale blue shirt and Robin went back to the blouse and skirt she had worn to work the day before, which were her only clothes there. Robin went to her flat to change and they worked for the entire day until five, hand-in-hand, they walked to Cambridge Circus to get the 19, and got out of the buss in Battersea, walking the rest of the way through the narrow street of Octavia.

“We could get a little house like this,” Robin commented, blushing, as she looked at the little houses, all two store big, semidetached, and variants of the same design. Strike smiled softly at her.

“Would you like to live with me?” asked Strike, excited. The prospective of living with Charlotte had always been known as an awful idea, but he felt different about Robin. He had spent a lot of time with her in her flat and had visited her flat when she lived with Matthew. He dreamed of entering a house that just smelled of Robin like all her flats had done, of the way things in her flat were always organised, warm, familiar, friendly, with the pictures and the things all over that reminded him of her. Robin wasn’t chaos like Charlotte. Robin was the warm hug and calmness after the storm.

“Yeah,” Robin nodded, squeezing his hand and looking at the dark sky. “The three of us. I guess, well, we haven’t even dated, but wouldn’t it be nice? Both of us there to care for little bean, a garden where it can play...”

“A nice house,” Strike smiled. “Where it can have a permanent bedroom and a permanent group of friends.” Robin chuckled, seeing his face of daydream, picturing the things he never had, just for their child.

 


	29. A home for our kiddo

They arrived at the house of their friends and knocked on the door, an anxious Ilsa opening the door and hugging them both with suspicious eyes. Zahara was wailing in her father’s arms and he smiled warmly at them as he patiently bounced Zahara while finishing up the toddler’s lunch. Lucy was already sitting drinking wine and kissed their cheek. Since Lucy had belonged to St. Mawes more than Strike, officially moving there in her teenage years, Ilsa and Lucy had quickly became close friends. Strike knew age difference to rarely be an obstacle between women, and even less when Lucy always behaved older than she was, so the girls, even though not as close as Strike and Ilsa, still had a relationship very similar to sisters. None of them had sisters biologically either.

“Okay so spill,” Ilsa said as they sat for dinner.

“Jesus, I haven’t even filled my glass yet,” Strike chuckled as Ilsa nailed her eyes on her.

“I’ve been waiting for my husband to stop being such a secretive person for three days Cormoran,” said Ilsa, sternly. “So come on.”

“Oh yeah, I want to know what the mystery is about too,” Lucy chuckled. She had commented the dinner came in the perfect moment, since Greg was in a business trip in Liverpool and their sons had been invited to a birthday sleepover, so she was thinking of dinner all alone in a too quiet house.

“It’s not such a big deal, really, it’s nothing,” Robin beamed, visibly in a way better mood than in days. “Cormoran and I are together. As in, romantically.” She said simply. Next to saying they were expecting, that was nothing. The three friends looked shocked.

“What?” Nick grinned. “That’s wonderful guys!”

“Shut up you already knew!” Ilsa squealed. “Oh my God, so good!”

“Finally,” Lucy breathed out.

“Wait that isn’t the big bomb, it’s not what I knew,” Nick clarified. Ilsa’s eyes widened and looked at the couple, before she could say anything, Strike felt brave and blurted it out.

“We’re expecting a child. Robin’s pregnant.”

“ _That_ is the big bomb,” said Nick with a laugh. Ilsa and Lucy’s jaws dropped and looked between the both of them.

“Come on, is this a late April Fool’s...?” Lucy smiled a little. “My brother hates children,” she looked at Robin and then back at Strike, “and you two just started dating, right? How...?”

“We lied a little,” said Robin, blushing. “We didn’t each go to our own place the 31st. Corm walked me home, and we were both very, very drunk... we actually, sadly, hardly remember exactly what happened, but the next day it was clear we had...” she blushed harder, awkward. 

“No way,” Ilsa breathed out. “Seriously God?” she laughed. “Nick and I try for years and nothing, you have sex once and by accident have one when you didn’t even want one.” She didn’t have hard feelings, but it was quite an anecdote.

“Yeah, we thought about the same thing, although to be fair it wasn’t once in the slightest that night,” Strike commented swiftly.

“Corm!” Robin, red, elbowed him as their friends laughed.

“So you’re what, thirteen weeks already?” Lucy grinned.

“Fourteen on Saturday, but yes,” Robin beamed. “We’re of course having it.”

“Guys, you could’ve said something earlier! Oh I can’t wait to see Greg’s face when I tell him,” Lucy giggled happily. “I’m finally being an aunt, yes! Thought it’d never happened.”

“Me too,” Strike shrugged. “We weren’t planning on repeating the 31st, which is why we never said anything. We agreed we were drunk and for several good reasons decided to leave it there and forget it, but then Robin had to go to the hospital the other day...”

“Found out in April’s Fools,” Robin nodded. “I swear for one moment I thought the doctors were making the joke of their lives.”

“So late? How come you didn’t notice earlier?” Lucy, who had successfully carried to term and birthed three healthy boys, had always known when she was pregnant pretty soon.

“I was on the pill when we…” Robin gave a nod towards Strike. “I’ve actually been on it for years, because Matthew heavily disliked condoms, and I couldn’t just stop abruptly because my hormones would’ve gone crazy, my body was just used to it. So by December I was still taken it and I didn’t think I could’ve made a mistake and gotten pregnant. It hadn’t happened in like, ten years or so, so why now right? But I guess since I was single I wasn’t taking it so religiously anymore, just to regulate periods and all,” she blushed a little, talking about those topics, although completely normal, was a new thing with Strike’s best friends and sister present, but neither of them joked, made a gesture to laugh or seemed anything but perfectly mature adults. “I imagine I either skipped a dose, thought I took it because I always did to the point of it being kind of a zombie action and in reality I hadn’t, or took it in the wrong moment. I wasn’t in my best mental place either so…” she shrugged. “Thing is, I was sure there was no way I could be pregnant, while I was hundred percent sure my mind wasn’t in the best place, so my physician thought it was just anxiety, stress, depression, mental breakdown. And maybe it was, but the symptoms come so similarly one thing clouded the other. Perhaps even they both happened at once and mixed in a super bomb, because I was really, really shitty, I can’t even quite remember exactly those three months. It’s a blur, and the antidepressants made me zombie. I don’t even know if I might’ve fucked up a case…” she added looking at Strike, who shook his head.

“I was always keeping an eye on you and I always revise the case before the last meeting with the client to make sure all is properly tied-up, and I never saw anything abnormal or mistaken on your side, Robin. That’s why I never imagined… you’re a very good actress…” Strike commented. Robin snorted.

“Truth be told we haven’t even seen each other much these months, tailing different people and barely crossing our paths, and when we did finally see each other it was outside work hours, so I could be shitty without containing,” said Robin thoughtfully. She tried to remember more clearly the past three months, but it was really just a fog. “And my doctor was going crazy. There were no blood tests or anything to see the pregnancy, it was just… she thought I was either having the worst side effects to medication or the meds wasn’t right or I was just imploding. Throwing up, nausea… everything. And drinking, which of course helps nothing. I guess if I had been mentally alright, it would’ve been obvious what was going on, but it wasn’t the case so it fooled everyone… and if I pulled weight I always just thought it was the meds, or not eating healthily or drinking too much or lack of exercise or any other excuse except pregnancy. Didn’t help that my doc made me quit the birth control pills at the same time to completely continue disrupting my emotions, but she thought maybe taking that and the antidepressants and others was just too much medicine in my system and everything that wasn’t hundred percent necessary had to go.”

“So now they can nail it and give you a right treatment?” Ilsa asked, scowling in concern. Robin nodded, taking a sip of her water.

“Yeah, after what happened on Saturday…”

“Right, Stick just said you were in the hospital,” Lucy interrupted Robin. “What happened?” Robin shrugged.

“I don’t even remember like most of the day if I’m completely honest, but I already spoke to James and he filled in the blanks,” Robin explained.

“Right, you never really said…” Strike left the sentence unfinished and Robin nodded.

“Between what James said and what I barely remember, he took me out for lunch and he said I seemed kind of gone, which he thought was a side effect of the medication or something, but I might’ve been drunk. I don’t remember much. I know I wasn’t feeling right, I know I had slept bad on Friday, I know I was throwing up the entire morning and not eating breakfast or anything, so maybe my sugar dropped. No idea. But we had lunch, and James said I ate well and he took me to the movies, which I kind of remember, and then I seemed very tired so he thought I needed a nap and we came to my flat,” Robin explained. She had called James earlier in the day, so the information was fresh in her head. “Then I went to sleep and James decided to let me sleep and left, but then I called him crying he says like an hour later or so, and I wasn’t making any sense, not vocalizing or anything, he worried I had lost it, and came running. James then found an empty bottle of wine in my kitchen he swears it wasn’t there before, so he assumed I had drank it. But by the time he found it, we had already drank another while I cried, and apparently kept not making any sense, so James decided to throw all the alcohol away down the sink, but there was nothing more in the house. Then afterwards James went to make dinner thinking maybe if I ate and went to bed, I’d be better later. He left for the kitchen one second, then he says he heard a thud and when he came, I had fainted, which is when he worried I was having an ethylic, and called you,” she pointed to Strike, who observed her scowling. He couldn’t believe so much had been going on without him noticing. “Then Nick came,” Robin continued to fill Lucy in. “With Cormoran and Ilsa, and I puked and got a bit cleaned up and then Nick suspected I was pregnant so we went to the hospital and…” she looked at Nick, not remembering exactly the afterwards.

“And I spoke to her doctor as a doctor myself and told her what I thought was going on,” explained Nick. “So they reoriented the train of thought and did some tests, and bingo.”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “Then on April Fool’s before I was discharged my physician had spoken with my OB-GYN and with my therapist, they shared info and after all the tests I had for which I’m still waiting results, and talking with me and all they came to the conclusion that it had basically been a major fuck up. I was bad myself, then get pregnant and have hormones fucked up and complicate everything, making me way more emotional than I would’ve already been, then remove the birth control, bust my ass in meds and that’s a very dangerous cocktail already. They apologised and everything.”

“Well it was the least,” Strike grumbled. “They could’ve killed you, they should’ve done blood tests sooner if you were feeling so sick. What if it hadn’t been a pregnancy but something truly fucked up?”

“We still don’t know, I don’t have the results yet. My doc said Monday at the very last,” Robin shrugged, trying not to think about it much and get worried. “They basically said I was already fucked up and then they messed me up fully with the meds and that they were the last thing I needed, what I needed was to go to quit alcohol for starters because we have yet to know how that might’ve hurt the baby, eat healthy, rest more, go to therapy and not take any more meds, just vitamins and stuff like that. Live healthier. And that’s basically what they’ve decided to do from now on, and if the tests say there’s any extra damage or that the baby isn’t okay, then make another plan, but for now…” Robin let a long sigh out.

“At least you’re better now, right?” Lucy seemed stressed out by all the concern. Robin nodded.

“Haven’t drank a drop of alcohol ever since, nor taken more than something they gave me to fix my stomach a little because it’s a bit irritated, but that it’s made to fix it so it’s not supposed to make more damage, and I already feel like a new person pretty much. At least I can think straight, you know? I have no idea how I could do my job before,” Robin answered. Lucy nodded, more relaxed. 

“So how are you two going to do this?” Ilsa asked, curious, as she ate her meal. She knew her best friend to not like children and was pleasantly surprised.

“Together,” Strike said, holding Robin’s hand over the table. Robin smiled sweetly at him. “We’ll move in together, find a place big enough to raise the baby. It’ll have to be a more expensive place than the ones we have but combining salaries it should be alright. And whatever the tests say, we’ll face it together.” Robin nodded in agreement, cheerful.

“I can’t express with words how happy I am my nephew or niece will be fifty percent Ellacott and not Campbell. I’m serious, I could cry,” said Lucy, beaming, excitedly. Robin laughed and Strike decided to confess.

“Well that almost did happen, actually.”

“What?!” Lucy’s eyes widened. “Tell me you’re joking.” Ilsa and Nick also looked interested. Robin smiled encouragingly at Strike. It was time to open up to his friends, Robin knew.

 


	30. Truth time

“I broke up with Charlotte because that was the last drop,” Strike explained, nervous. Lucy’s eyes had filled with tears, Robin didn’t know if of anger or sadness. “She said she was pregnant, but never offered proof. Never wanted to see a doctor, never seemed pregnant in the slightest. Then she changed any date depending on how convenient it was, and I started suspecting. She got angry I was treating her like a case, I guess she might’ve lied to assure I wouldn’t go, because I would never leave my child with her. There were no abortion talks, suddenly she wanted a child and I figured maybe I could convince her later on to give it in adoption or try to keep it myself because I didn’t trust Charlotte as a mother. And then one day everything was over. She claimed she had lost it, I didn’t believe shit, we fought and I left, never came back. Four months and not one proof she truly ever was pregnant. Three weeks later, Charlotte and Jago Ross were engaged and I put two and two together, figured they had been sleeping together behind my back and that if Charlotte did ever really think she was pregnant, she had no idea who was the father, so she kept changing dates, maybe she told him too, so any of us, whoever was more convenient, could take responsibility if she truly was pregnant. There’s a chance she managed to get engaged so fast because after I left her she told him the baby was his or something, that he was her plan B, but I have no idea really. All I know is that if she truly had been pregnant, she would’ve given birth a long time ago and as far as I’m concerned, she didn’t even grow a belly, let alone give birth.” Robin had subconsciously clenched her fists, one of them still interlaced with Strike’s hands, and Lucy, Ilsa and Nick looked livid, as if they were about to puke.

“What a fucking...” Lucy breathed out.

“That doesn’t even have a name,” Ilsa said sternly. “That’s crossing all possible lines. That’s going way too far, you realize you could’ve sued...”

“Whatever,” Strike interrupted her. “It’s over. I’m way past that.”

“So that’s why she married that prick?” Nick frowned. “She’s... disgusting and... English doesn’t have vocabulary enough.”

“She expected me to come to the rescue, as I’ve always done. She kept calling, right? And texting me,” Strike looked at Robin, who nodded. “Robin attended a couple calls or so, right? Kept sending me messages, made sure I knew she was getting engaged before it was out in the magazines. Wanted for me to rescue her, Jago has drinking problems and drug problems and Charlotte once laughed and commented she had dodged a bullet leaving him since he was like that, she hated children and now she’s a step-mother. But she knew that play would hurt me the most, and she was damn right. Kept texting the child was mine, texted me when she got married just so I knew, sent a picture to the office. She wants revenge on me so much she’s willing to sacrifice herself and marry a drunk man who might even hit her at night. But I’ve never answered and now she’s free to deal with the consequences of her actions.”

“How does she fucking dare?” Lucy’s eyes were full of tears. “After all you’ve done for her, you’ve treated her like an angel and you were always such a good man, always loving and caring and she does and...” she breathed in to calm herself, and shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell us? We would’ve been there!”

“And then what Luce?” Strike asked gently, reaching to kindly rub Lucy’s tears away with a thumb. “I was broken enough, I couldn’t bear with other people being broken about it or shouting, enough happened just with saying I had left her, remember how you got? Making a number in the office?” Lucy nodded, guiltily. “Not to mention I couldn’t afford not working for five minutes, needed the money. Besides, I wasn’t alone. Robin was always there, I told her everything and she cared for me.” Strike smiled at Robin full of gratitude and she smiled back.

“To be fair, I caught you drunk as fuck. It was actually one of the funniest memories I’ve got, when you take away the ugly, sad parts,” Robin got chills at the memory. “Remember you explained me the whole theory of digitalization ruining everything and messed with a guy calling him ‘beardie’? It was fantastic.” Robin chuckled at him, trying to enlighten the environment. Strike laughed.

“Did I?”

“I totally believe it,” Nick laughed. “You have this whole theory with digitalization, all angry about it when it makes your job easier...”

They continued the lunch joking and laughing and messing with Strike’s ‘old dude’ theories and criticism and after a stop to feed Zahara again and play her until she worn out to take her nap, they sat in the sitting-room for a whiskey that neither Robin nor Strike –who had decided to emphasize with his child’s mother and follow the same prohibitions- tasted, but they enjoyed just being there equally. They were laughing with a funny anecdote from Nick’s job when Robin’s phone rang and, seeing it was her doctor, she left to attend the call in private. Strike stared lingering at the spot at which Robin had disappeared, anxious. Lucy smiled at him.

“So you do what that child?” Lucy questioned. Strike looked at her and after a moment, nodded.

“I imagine I’ll very much be a mess of a father, but... I would’ve rather have my father show up and give a shit even if he had had no idea how to father me, than pretend I don’t exist,” Strike said honestly. “I could never do that to my child. Besides, if I suck, there’s always Robin to be amazing for the both of us and I can just be the cool dad from the point they’re twenty-one. I guess what matters in the end is that I love the kid and care for it, and less if I get how to talk or play with it.”

“Well Jack worships you so I wouldn’t expect less from your child,” Lucy smiled happily at him. Strike smiled back, nodding.

“Not sure how that happened if I’m honest.”

“Look, parenthood is like that,” Lucy confessed. Strike felt weird talking about that with Lucy, when he would’ve never been interested, but now he liked it. “Every night you’ll tuck your child in bed and regardless of the fights of the day or whatsoever, that child will kiss you goodnight and tell you they love you. You’ll stare at them sleeping oh so peaceful oh so innocent and you’ll have absolutely no clue how can they be like that and then be a mess, or how they love you with the load one fucks up, or how come at the end of the day everything is alright, no one knows how it happens but it does.” Strike nodded, more relaxed.

Robin didn’t rejoin them until ten minutes later, after she had discussed things thoroughly with her doctor. She looked deep in thought and serious, and Strike fixed his eyes on her questioningly.

“Well?” asked Strike finally as Robin flopped on the sofa next to him and the conversation in the room naturally stopped. “Everything alright?” Robin sighed.

“I’m fine, but we can’t be sure of the baby...” Strike’s eyes widened, feeling his heart drumming. “The doctor said as far as it can be told this soon, the baby seems fine, aside from a bit smaller than normal, no weird deformities or anything...”

“Good, then what’s the problem?” Strike frowned. Robin shrugged.

“There isn’t a way to be sure that it’s really completely fine now because many things aren’t perceived until later in the pregnancy or mostly once the baby is born. The doctor even said that even if all seemed fine while the baby’s just a baby, problems could come up when it’s twenty or thirty years old.”

“Well but that happens to all children Robin,” Lucy said conciliatory.

“Yeah, which is why according to the doctor the biggest worry right now is whether the baby has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, which has no cure. If it does, which is a possibility, we would probably start knowing since baby, the doctor said those babies can have a wide range of issues like learning difficulties, deformities, disabilities, hyperactivity, lower weight, slower growth, central nervous system abnormalities, cognitive issues such as bad memory, comprehension issues, poor attention, intellectual disabilities, coordination problems...” Robin took a deep breath and sighed deep, shaking her head. Strike leaned back in his seat, worried. “I could’ve fucked our baby up majorly and this would be solely my fault. They said genetically its chances of Down Syndrome or any other thing alike were extremely low, at least in my side of genetics, so if it has anything it’s most likely my fault for getting our child drunk and full of meds. Aside from that, if it has FAS, there’s a big chance of premature birth or stillbirth or...” Robin shook her head again, incapable of finishing the sentence. Strike sighed and put an arm around Robin, pulling her into his arms. “I’m so sorry...” Robin whispered against his chest, crestfallen.

“Robin, is not your fault, you don’t have to apologize...” said Strike, comprehensive. “Children are born one way or another every day, we can’t control everything... look, you weren’t planning to get abused o get pregnant, things just happened, you had no idea what you had, how were you supposed to do something? You weren’t in a place to guess what was going on and that isn’t your fault either, alright? None of this is your fault. What counts is that the minute you had the slightest suspicion this child existed you went to the doctor and got work done so you could care for yourself and the baby. That’s what counts Robin. And no one can judge you.”

“But if I just hadn’t drunk...”

“Then you would’ve coped another way and maybe you and that child would be dead already,” Strike finished the sentence for her. “Life happens Robin, it wasn’t something you could help in the moment, and now there’s no point on regretting okay? We can’t go back, we have no control of what already happened but we can choose what happens next, so what are we going to do?”

Robin pulled apart just enough to look at him and smiled a little.

“Keep an eye on things, take care and hope for the best,” Strike chuckled and nodded.

“And whatever happens, happens. We’re in this together and if anything happens to our child, we’ll face it together.”

“Orlando was a happy girl, Mrs Quine’s daughter,” Robin commented. “It didn’t matter that she had learning difficulties. They managed. So I guess... if it turns out to have problems, we’ll get the hang of it. As long as we can help it be happy...”

“That’s all that matters,” Strike smiled down at her, kissing her forehead. “Besides, if it has a deformity what? It will look a bit more like me and less like a mini god like you? Big deal.” He snorted a laugh. Robin shook her head and smiled, kissing him. Strike smiled against her lips ignoring the little ‘aww’ he heard from Lucy.

“Okay, we need to go find me some bigger pants,” Robin blurted suddenly separating from him. “First thing in the morning, I’m serious, with your permission,” she added looking at the others, “I’m going to unbutton...” she reached to unbutton her pants so they were a bit more loose, covering with her shirt so her underwear wouldn’t peak. Nick laughed.

“Anything you need girl,” said Nick amused. Robin rolled eyes with a chuckle.

“Oh, you’re gonna be throwing away so many pants directly. First you’ll hope after the baby is born you’ll wear them again, but one day you’ll see it never happened,” Lucy laughed.

Zahara started crying and Ilsa got up to attend her and pointed at Cormoran.

“You come with me, you need to learn to change diapers.”

“Me?” Strike’s eyes widened. “She’s having a kid too!” he pointed at Robin, who laughed.

“I have two little brothers and a general good hand with children,” said Robin, moving so Strike would get up. “Your turn!” Strike rolled his eyes, and followed Ilsa upstairs.

 

 


	31. Better than oxygen

When the weekend came it was raining heavily in London, which made their departure a bit wet as the couple stuffed holdalls into the back of the old Land Rover, that Robin hurried to drive out of the lake London was becoming. The fact that it was Good Friday and everyone was leaving at the same time made the time to get out of London longer than it would otherwise have been, but by ten in the morning Strike and Robin were surrounded by the countryside as they travelled north towards Masham until Monday, when after lunch, they’d start the trip back to London.

“What are we going to do with the car?” asked Strike gulping a muffin he started eating three hours after they had gotten on the car, looking at Robin, who focused with the eyes on the road and both hands on the steering wheel.

“What do you mean?” Robin asked with a slight frown.

“Well in a few months you’ll be too pregnant to reach the steering wheel and I can’t drive this car,” Strike commented casually. “Besides, what’s more important; this car isn’t safe to put on a baby chair comfortably. I know we have good memories here and mostly you and that this is your childhood car, but let’s face it, it’s not adequate for a baby and it’s old and not that safe. We could get a fine car with the latest security measures and all.”

“Right but,” said Robin thoughtfully, opening her mouth briefly so Strike would give her a bite of his muffin. She gulped and continued. “But how are we going to have the money for a car and a new place? Not to mention all the baby stuff Corm, we’re going to go broke. And this car is worth nothing to sell.”

“Okay, so...” Strike thought about it and reached a conclusion. “Step 1, we open a joint bank account and find a new place. Step 2, we see how we are economically once we’re comfortable in the new place and we have the main baby stuff we need and we’re no longer paying two flats separately. Step 3, we keep this car for when the baby isn’t in it and work, and whenever we need one with the baby we’ll rent one.” Robin chuckled.

“More likeable...”

Strike grinned at her, feeling strangely happy just by looking at her, with her red-blonde hair loose, her cheeky face, her loose t-shirt and her nicknamed ‘preggie pants’ that had an elastic waist so it would adjust to her growth. He reached a hand to her thigh, giving her a gentle squeeze.

“I’m happy, Robin,” he found himself saying spontaneously as he looked into the road, making her grin.

“Me too.”

They arrived to the Ellacott’s family home in Masham a bit before lunchtime. It was a big, two-store brick house, and Robin hit the claxon as she arrived. Strike quickly spotted Michael Ellacott running to receive them, and felt anxiety creeping in his stomach. He had never done the whole ‘meeting the family’ thing. Charlotte had gotten awfully along with her own family. Strike had met the Ellacotts in several occasions, but never before as ‘the boyfriend’ or ‘the baby’s father’, and he had no idea if Michael, tall and broad like him and a bit plump, would punch him.

Robin practically threw herself out of the car, beaming, and jumped into her father’s arms. He was taller than her and about as tall as Strike, with super short, brown-blonde hair, a receding hairline and some white hairs here and there. He had a sympathetic face, friendly and kind, reflecting his personality, and cheeky face, like Robin. He grinned happily hugging his daughter. Strike got out of the car and smiled shaking Michael’s hand exchanging a few ‘how’s it going?’ words. Robin had told her parents she had decided Strike and her needed a break from work and she really wanted to go to Masham, so she had invited Strike along. In reality, they had come to tell them the big news.

Linda Ellacott was Robin’s height and had her exact same hair, although with some white hairs, and a face less like Robin’s and more like her eldest son, Stephen, who had short, more brownish hair, and thinner, bearded face. She was already busy hugging and chit chatting with her daughter, and the hour entered the beautiful house, Strike and Michael at the rear with the two holdalls, doing small talk. Strike liked Michael, he reminded her of a mixture between Ted and Robin, and Linda was so motherly sweet it was impossible to dislike her.

“Hey ya,” Robin smiled at Martin, rubbing his hair, a bit long and thrown back, as he stood skinny as he was and large, tall. The whole family had come from the bank holiday, so it wasn’t long before she was saluting her brothers and sister-in-law, Emma. Jonathan, the youngest, in his earliest twenties, had the most physical similarity with Robin, which made him seem even younger.

Strike shook hands and occupied himself rubbing Rowntree’s ears. Although he liked dogs, they tended to detect his prosthesis right away and try to play with it. Rowntree, however, seemed to have the Ellacott’s kind-hearted soul and a particular fondness for him, always going to him the couple times he had been in Masham, this one being the third. The dog liberated him of some social anxiety before he walked upstairs following Robin to leave their holdalls in Robin’s small bedroom, full of horses.

“How do we do this?” whispered Strike anxiously. He had just lied to Linda saying he would help Robin with her things and that no, he absolutely didn’t mind having to sleep in the spare mattress put in Jonathan’s bedroom.

“Get downstairs, say we’re dating over lunch. Will make the other set of news easier,” said Robin simply. Then she spotted his anxiousness and smiled. “Aw, is the soldier scared of my family?”

“Well your last boyfriend is in prison so I imagine them being a little sensitive on the subject and submitting me to the ninth degree at least,” Robin snorted a laugh.

“Aw, don’t worry Corm, they worship you,” Strike rolled eyes but hummed content as Robin reached to kiss him before they got back downstairs.

As they settled in the table and Linda cut the enormous chicken and filled their plates, Robin winked encouragingly at Strike. She was nervous herself, but less having in count that she knew everyone loved Strike and even encouraged her to date him. Robin waited until Linda sat back down and a conversation about politics had died to start their topic.

“So I’ve got some news,” she started nonchalantly. “Cormoran and I have just started dating, some days ago.” Strike blushed, uncomfortable, and Emma smiled at Cormoran.

“Well that’s nice,” Michael palmed Strike’s back. “A good one indeed.”

“Thanks,” Strike smiled a little.

“Oh, we knew it would happen,” Linda chuckled. “Welcome to the family Cormoran, sort to say right?” he nodded with a little smile _you have no idea how accurate that is_ was reserved to his mind. There were general murmurs of approval and Robin smiled.

“And the big bomb is,” Robin continued. “I’m fourteen weeks pregnant. Cormoran’s the father.” She and Strike stopped eating to cautiously look around the table. Michael and Linda’s faces were a mixture of happiness, confusion and concern, Stephen looked serious at the two, Emma seemed surprised and elated, Martin was chuckling amused and Jonathan had raised eyebrows and looked surprised.

“Didn’t you just say you’ve only been together for days?” Linda asked, naive. Martin laughed.

“Mum they shagged New Year’s away, do the math,” he said laughing.

“To be clear,” Strike decided to intervene, feeling cold sweat through his back. “It was accidental, we were drunk, we did something crazy and although we recognized there were... feelings...” he blushed, looking at the chicken instead. “We decided not to pursue them because we work together and we didn’t want to endanger our friendship and camaraderie if something romantic went wrong. Besides, Robin wasn’t ready to date...”

“We didn’t know I was pregnant until last week,” Robin cleared out. “So we talked and we decided we want to have it and do this together, and since the baby’s acted as a guarantee that no matter what we’ll stay as friends and be civil with each other for the baby’s sake, we also decided to give ourselves a chance.”

“I want to take responsibility of our child and be a father, I’m not letting Robin do all the work. We’re going to move together and do things right and if at any point we decide we not work, at least let it not be said we didn’t try, and like Robin said, we’ve compromised to stay friendly no matter what,” Strike added, nervous. He didn’t want to seem as if he took advantage or something. “I care immensely for Robin and our baby,” he looked at Robin straight in the eye, taking her hand over the table, and she smiled sweetly at him. “We’re best friends before nothing else and I won’t ever let anything happen to them, no matter if Robin and I work or not as a couple. I’d give my life for them.”

“Oh, Cormoran...” Robin brought him into a kiss.

“I mean it,” Strike said against her lips and they separated. “I’d do anything for you two... anything.” Robin kissed him again trying to convey how much it meant for her. Martin cleared his voice and they separated, Robin glaring at Martin, who smiled.

“Well Cormoran,” Stephen smiled amused. “I hope you understand we’re going to keep our eyes on you very closely and if you hurt them...”

“I’d be the very first one punching myself, don’t worry,” Strike snorted a laugh, more relaxed.

“Oh my God we’re going to be grandparents!” Linda finally unloaded her excitement, beaming at Michael, who chuckled, before running to hug Robin and Cormoran.

“That’s going to be one observant child, with detective parents,” Jonathan joked as Michael imitated his wife full of excitement and congrats finally flew over the table.

Later in the day Robin and Strike visited Robin’s uncle at the farm and after sharing the news, the couple enjoyed a romantic walk hand-in-hand around the farm, seeing the animals and just walking by the river and through the infinite green fields. They had only had time for a couple dates in London so they were craving some romanticism while they could still have it.

“Am I seeing Dad 2.0?” Jonathan joked as he and Robin entered the sitting room at night and stood observing the scene, amused. Robin snorted a laugh and quickly muffled it with her hand to avoid waking any of the men up.

Strike sat on one of the two armchairs with the head thrown back, snoring softly while Rowntree slept on the floor with the chin supported on Strike’s false foot, so he wasn’t even feeling it. Michael snored away in the other armchair, and Robin took a picture with her phone because the similarity was just too funny, sending it to Lucy along with a small comment  **‘someone said girls tend to search for men alike their fathers. Well...’**

At night, Robin hummed contently, happier than she had felt in a really long time, as she buried her face in Strike’s chest, snuggling in bed after dinner. Strike chuckled putting his arms around her and pressed his lips against the top of her head.

“Do you have oxygen down there?” he joked amused.

“Better,” Robin looked up at him, beaming. “I have you.”

 

 


	32. Did he...?

“There it is,” Strike chuckled, holding his phone up. Robin grinned at him holding up her blouse just enough to reveal a small baby-bump, yet obvious enough. Robin had insisted on taking weekly pictures to keep close observance in case it stopped growing or something. Strike just thought he was happy with dozens of pictures of Robin in his phone, and their littlest one. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

Blushing, Robin rushed to Strike and cupped his face before giving him an intense kiss that took his breath away, but when he tried to carry things further –which he could usually do with success- Robin laughed and pushed him away lightly.

“Come on, we have houses to see.”

The pair, aided by Nick and Ilsa and sometimes Lucy, had been seeing houses for a couple weeks. At first, flats were also included, but then they figured things sometimes could go crazy at home –between their enemies and a wailing baby- and maybe it would be better to have a house. This worked for Strike, since it meant he’d only have to climb one set of stairs sometimes, and Robin appreciated a garden where their child could play, although they both appreciated the idea of having a piece of green, since they both came from small towns with big gardens. Since they didn’t know if said child would be hyperactive, it would also provide a good zone to wear him off if he turned out to be.

The five adults plus Linda and Michael, who were helping pay they house and had come down for a weekend to help them sort themselves out –Strike had already moved to Robin’s flat so now they were cramped in the little flat- sailed this time to Clapham, looking for a house that wasn’t so expensive and had most things in the ground floor so Strike didn’t have t be all day up and down the stairs.

“Okay if it’s not this one, things are going to get super complicated,” Nick sighed as they looked around the last house they planned on seeing that day.

“I think it’s nice,” Linda said, examining the sitting room. It was a small, semi-detached, two store house.

It had a minuscule patio in the entry with a huge tree, and a small garden in the back, a sitting-dining room, a kitchen, a guest room and a toilet in the ground floor, and a couple bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. It was more than Strike had ever had.

“It seems solid,” Strike palmed the brick walls. “The neighbourhood seems nice, it’s not too far from the office...”

“The windows are nice,” Ilsa complimented, walking around.

“And the toilet looks almost new,” Nick commented zipping up his fly as he came into the room.

Strike and Robin followed Michael and Lucy into the bedrooms and looked around.

“The rooms aren’t very big though...” said Robin.

“I prefer it like that, so I can reach things easily if I’m without the leg,” opined Strike. “And it’s spacious enough to not be asphyxiating and move around easily.”

“Yeah... and cosy,” Robin nodded. “We’ve both lived in way worse.” She smiled at him.

“Let’s check the baby room,” Michael suggested, walking to the other room. Robin smiled seeing it, she could imagine the room. A crib, toys scattered around the floor...

“The window leads to the garden,” Strike said peeking through it.

“Look, I’m tired of looking houses,” Robin shrugged. “This house is nice. It’s affordable, it’s close enough to work... and it’s homey, we heard great things of the neighbourhood and the street, and it’s somewhere calm to disconnect from work. Isn’t it what we wanted?” Strike nodded, looking around.

“To me a house like this is practically a luxury, so you won’t see me complaining,” Strike chuckled at her.

“And is it comfortable for you?” Lucy asked her brother. “With the stairs and all...”

“Yeah, I spend most of my time in the office anyway, this is just a sanctuary to come back to. Although I’m gonna miss just having to climb upstairs to get to bed,” he chuckled looking at Robin. “Our kid will like this. I’m sure.”

By the time they were moved and settled into the new house, Robin was already twenty-four weeks pregnant and showing in a way that made Strike’s knees weaken just by looking at her, with her tired face and the messiest bum in the mornings as she prepared tea wearing one of Strike’s huge t-shirts and shorts.

It was a Sunday morning and the rain hit the windows as Robin slept on the sofa, her head on Strike’s lap over a pillow as he was watching an Arsenal’s game from the night before in the laptop, plugged into the TV. A breath left his lips in frustration as the Arsenal missed a perfect opportunity for a goal when his phone rang and he quickly answered the call before it woke Robin up. He could tell the belly was starting to make her sleeping uncomfortable, along with their kid’s little kicks.

“Hi Al,” Strike saluted having seen the name on the screen. Then he frowned, hearing sobbing. “Al mate, what’s wrong?” he frowned.

“Dad’s dead, Cormoran!” Al Rokeby, his step-brother, cried out. “He’s dead!”

“What?” Strike’s eyes widened. “When? What’s going on?”

“I’m at the house in M-Mayfair, w-we’re all here. M-Mum called two hours a-ago saying she came back from a-a trip to Australia and f-found him d-dead in their bedroom!” Al cried out between sobs. Strike frowned more. “Detective Wardle is here... y-you should c-come, Corm... we’re f-freaking o-out...” Strike nodded.

“Alright Al, tell everyone to stay in the house, collaborate with the police, tell them they have to truthfully answer anything they ask and collaborate as much as possible, okay? I’ll be there in forty or so, alright? I’m getting dressed and taking the underground. And listen, Al,” Strike added, turning off the laptop with his free hand. “Try to calm down, try to remember anything that can be useful and tell Wardle. Threats, enemies, anything. All will be welcomed.”

After helping Al calm down for a moment, Strike hung up and softly shook Robin awake. The pregnant woman opened her eyes disoriented.

“W-ah?” She asked sleepily, seeing Strike’s stressed expression.

“Al just called. Jonny Rokeby has appeared dead in his house in Mayfair,” Strike blurted out. Robin’s eyes widened and she sat up so quickly for a moment she went dizzy. “Al is freaking out, he says everyone is there and Wardle has the case. I have to go, try to help...”

“But Corm,” Robin stood up following him to the bedroom, where he had rushed to change. “You do know if someone killed him you’re going to be a suspect, right? Everyone’s going to see motive... He abandoned you and your mother and...”

“I know,” Strike threw his pyjama shirt to the bed and found one of his work suits, putting on a shirt. “That’s precisely why I better get there now.”

“Okay, yeah, right,” Robin nodded, looking around. “I’ll change and...”

“Stay here,” Strike pleaded, fixing his eyes on her for a moment. “The baby doesn’t need the drama, a house full of paparazzi by the door, police...” he shook his head. “And we don’t know if the killer is still there, if there even is one. Please stay here, okay? I’ll be back as soon as possible.” Robin sighed but nodding, giving him the reason.

“Stay safe,” she said as he finished getting ready. “Don’t do anything stupid and call me as soon as you know something.”

“I will,” Strike nodded, giving her a peek. They walked back downstairs. “Right, see you later, take care, stay safe and if you see anyone by our door spying or anything...”

“I’ll call you.” Strike nodded.

“We don’t know if there is a killer coming for all of us or only Jonny or if he did it himself. I lo...” he stopped himself almost on time. “Leave... now. Bye.”

“Good luck,” Robin cradled her belly and breathed out as the door closed. “Bugger!”

Strike took the underground and reached the luxurious house at which Jonny Rokeby had lived with his last wife, film producer Jenny Graham, to whom he had been married for thirty-one years and with whom he was father of Al, his twenty-nine year old step-brother who had been trying business, and Eddie, twenty-six and owner of his own band. Of them, Strike was only in friendly terms with Al, while Eddie didn’t much give a shit. Strike didn’t either, so it was fine.

Police crowded around the building and stopped him right away.

“I’m Cormoran Strike,” Strike told the policeman, surprised that he needed to identify himself with how much the Met disliked him. “Jonny Rokeby was my father, I have a right to be here. His son Al Rokeby called me to come.” He tried to sound more pained by the loss than how he actually felt, and was let inside, where he instantly spotted Al, pale and tearful, talking with the police, Al ran to him when he saw him and hugged him.

“Thank you for coming,” Al breathed out.

“How’s your mum?” Strike asked, knowing she must’ve been very shocked. Al shook his head.

“We gave her a Valium, she’s better now,” said Al. “They say he killed himself, but I’m sure someone did it and you need to figure it out, brother. Show up to the Met again... it was our father...”

“What happened?” asked Strike, avoiding compromising with the sentimentalism he didn’t feel towards Jonny.

“Mum had gone off to Australia, she was premiering a movie, left for a week. I picked her up at the airport myself, yesterday, June 15th at exactly ten in the morning, I was listening to the radio on my way to the airport and it announced the hour right as I parked. I dropped her off here and left to see my girlfriend, leave her to reacquaint with Dad... then,” Al gulped, his reddened eyes looking stressed. “Mum calls... she was freaking out. She said she went upstairs and thought Dad wasn’t home, then she sees him in a pool of blood in his bed, in his underwear. Police says he shot himself once in the head, but he wasn’t suicidal, Corm, he would’ve never...”

“Al...” Strike looked at his brother, comprehensive. “Did you answer all of police’s questions?”

“Yeah, we all did, but we don’t know much,” Al explained. “Eddie had a gig last night, was out all night, he said the last time he saw Dad was yesterday morning, they had breakfast here together and then Eddie went to spend the day with his girlfriend. He said Dad didn’t seem sad in the slightest, not like he would kill himself” Strike nodded and Wardle came. Strike had seen before people kill themselves without seeming suicidal at all the prior hours.

“Strike, you’re here,” Wardle looked at him serious. “I was just heading to interrogate you.”

 

 

 

 

 


	33. About fathers

“I want you to investigate elbow-with-elbow with my brother,” Al said. “Please. You two are good, together you’re even better, and there’s a murderer out there, my entire family’s at risk... I’m sure Dad wouldn’t kill himself, someone did it!”

“We aren’t treating this as a murder investigation, Mr. Rokeby. Your father had the gun in his hand, but if this was a murder, Mr Strike would be a suspect, Mr Rokeby,” said Wardle, firm. “I can’t collaborate with him until I clear him out. You have motive, knowledge... you understand right?” Strike nodded as Wardle looked at him.

“Yesterday I spent the day in the office, working. Robin can witness that and also a couple clients I met with, I can give you the names,” said Strike, knowing the drill. “Went home at five, in Clapham. I share a house with my girlfriend.”

“Your girlfriend?” Wardle raised eyebrows and Strike nodded.

“Robin and I...” Strike nodded instead of finishing the sentence. “Listen, Robin’s twenty-four weeks pregnant, you can’t tell anyone we’re romantically involved unless you absolutely have to. Tell them we’re house-mates because we’re both low on money or whatever, but you do not go around informing we’re together because she’s an easy target if someone’s going after the family. I won’t have anything happen to Robin and our unborn child.”

“I’ll try my best, can’t promise anything though,” Wardle said, Strike looking sternly at her. “He did this himself, anyway, so don’t worry.”

“Didn’t know,” Al commented, ignoring Wardle. “I liked Robin, she’s a good woman for you.”

“I don’t want paparazzi around my business, I need the money now more than ever and if my clients decide to leave my child could be born homeless,” Strike added severe, fixing his eyes on Wardle. “And I don’t want paparazzi around my house, it’s the one safe place we have that no one knows we have, where Robin can be the safest and just relax. We don’t need any stress or disruption there. And if you have to talk with her, you’ll come to the office or visit, alone, our house, I want her protected from the media, she’s been having some health issues and this whole thing is not good for her... I’m serious Wardle, you have to care for her privacy, if not for me or for her, for our unborn child.”

“I’ll try my best,” Wardle repeated, nodded tiredly. “Where were you last night? Just so Mr. Rokeby here can see no one killed him...”

“Robin and I went home together. Left the office at five, walked down to Tottenham Court Road Station, took the underground straight to Clapham. We changed into our pyjamas, showered, made dinner... were alone. Robin went to sleep early, like I said, she’s been dealing with some stuff and she was tired. I watched the movie they put in the BBC, Hamlet. Then went to bed too and we weren’t up until eight or nine. When Al called me we were still in pyjamas.” Strike explained right away.

“You were alone with your girlfriend, who will say anything to protect you,” said Wardle. “That’s a very weak alibi.”

“Robin is a very honest person, but you can search the underground cameras, and also, there’s a bank near our house, we passed right in front. Those got cameras,” Strike replied calmly. “I didn’t kill Jonny, but that doesn’t mean he killed himself, think of the Landy case... Why don’t you investigate this as a possible murder until you’re absolutely sure no one killed them? Then you can rule it out and say suicide...”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job...” said Wardle.

“I want what my brother said,” said Alexander. “He could’ve been killed and someone’s trying to make it look like suicide!”

Wardle sighed in exasperation and rolled his eyes.

“Alright, have it your way...” Wardle sighed. He knew the Rokeby’s were too powerful to say no. “In that case, what do you have to say for yourself Strike? He abandoned you and your mother, all your step-siblings swim in money or did at some point, and are famous, while you barely sustain.” He said matter-of-factly.

“And you know me well enough to know I don’t wish fame and money, I wish to do the job I love and care for my family,” Strike narrowed eyes. “Can you tell me what happened to my father now, please?” he added impatiently. Wardle nodded and sighed.

“Single shot to the head, we found him with a Walther pistol in his hand and it coincides with the wound. It had a silencer, which explains that no one heard everything. The CCTV was deactivated presumably by the victim for the night, and the staff said they weren’t here because he sent them away. This reinforces our theory of suicide, Rokeby made sure to be alone and did it.” Wardle answered finally.

“So it was a premeditated murder,” Al looked at Strike serious and Wardle sighed exasperated.

“No one killed him, for God’s sakes!” Wardle growled impatiently. “Mr Rokeby you have to stop forming theories with no fundaments...”

“My father would never do this to us! He would never! Someone killed him, I’m sure!” Al shouted furiously. Wardle sighed, angry, but for the sake of argument decided to just shut up and do as Al wanted.

“Is there anyone in the family with gun training aside from Strike?” Wardle asked Al.

“Eddie and I both went hunting with Dad several times. My mother’s father is a hunter so we all know about weapons,” Al explained. “I don’t know about anyone else.”

Strike spent hours talking with Wardle, Al, Eddie and even exchanged a couple words with Jenny Graham, before leaving, feeling drained. He was worried Al would go crazy for this, worried about the impact to his business if Al was right and there was a murderer... It all just became a ball of stress and anxiety, strengthened by Robin’s pregnancy and his stress about whether or not their child was safe.

‘ **It’s all on TV already, everyone knows. Lunch at Lucy’s, she’s worried about you. R. xoxo’** Robin’s text had come an hour previously and he was just now seeing.

‘ **Just left the house, what a chaos. See you there? xx’**

‘ **Yeah, I’m there already. We’re all anxiously waiting for your gossip <3’** Strike snorted a discreet laugh and walked to Green Park to get in the 19 bus.

One of the best parts of the new house was that they lived much closer to Nick and Ilsa’s and also to Lucy, although she still lived too far away for Strike’s liking, mostly because it meant he had to go through a tiring journey every time Lucy invited them over. He remembered to buy a box of chocolates on the way to the house and was there as soon as he could.

“Hi Uncle Corm!” Jack grinned at him when he saw him. The boy was, Robin reminded Strike, nine now and he had grown a hand-span.

“Hey ya, how’s school?” Strike asked. ‘School’ Robin had told him, when she saw his struggle to come up with a topic of conversation with his nephews. ‘Friends, football!’.

“It’s great,” Jack chuckled. “Caught any murderer recently?” Strike was taken aback and the boy looked amused.

“Not really,” Strike smiled a little and moved on, saluting his youngest nephew before him and Jack ran to play in the garden. Lucy informed him the eldest was now a teenager who had teenage plans on Sundays, apparently.

“So what happened?” Robin asked after Strike kissed her and sat with her, Nick, Ilsa, Greg and Lucy.

Strike told them everything he knew, adding that there was absolutely no evidence, no other fingerprints aside from Rokeby’s on the gun, no witnesses, nothing. Since Al was forcing Wardle to make sure no one killed Jonny, they were investigating everyone as if there was a murder, just so the family would relax saying someone killed Jonny.

“But he doesn’t think _you_ did it, right?” Lucy asked frowning.

“I don’t think he truly thinks so, but I think he’s keeping me as a suspect as a proof that’s he’s being completely objective and not letting any personal relationship with me cloud things. He says I could’ve done it out of vengeance for abandoning mum and I and denying I was his son for years, or that maybe I did it because I thought I was in his will and wanted to obtain money now that Robin’s pregnant,” Strike shook his head. “Nonsense. At least Al is sure I didn’t do it, demanded the Met to let me collaborate and for us to work along. Not that he’s anyone to give them orders, but well. His family is so full of power in intimidating for the Met’s bosses.”

“Why don’t you let the police investigate that themselves? Get far away from the shit, that’s going to get like those board games of families who kill someone for the will. Everyone will end up hating each other,” Greg commented, advising as he filled their cups with wine with exception of Strike and Robin, that took water. “If Rokeby didn’t kill himself, of course.”

“My step-brother Al wants me to do it and I owe him for the Quine case,” replied Strike simply. “That said, I’d do it anyway. Al seems pretty sure it was murder and Wardle isn’t too convinced, so I’m the only one who’s really going to pursue that line of investigation, because it also seems odd to me that he’d commit suicide. So assuming he was killed, I think whoever killed Rokeby is someone who knows what they’re doing, this was premeditated, someone went through a lot of effort to kill him and I’d bet it’s for money. If it was someone in the family, it’s for the will most likely, which means they’ll keep killing until they get what they want and the Met has already fucked up several times, I’m not trusting them and then seeing someone else be killed.”

“The list of suspects could be tremendous though,” Ilsa commented while feeding Zahara an orange cream. “And they might come from all over the world. Between lovers, ex-girlfriends, ex-wives, children, people he fired, competence, drug addicts...” she shook her head. “That’s gonna be tricky. They don’t even have to know so much of guns, nowadays you can Google anything and didn’t Rokeby live between LA and London? In America anyone can get the gun and the knowledge.”

“That’s a smart thought Ilsa, I hadn’t reached it yet...” Strike nodded approvingly. “It all gets more complicated when Al goes and says his maternal grandfather in Australia was a hunter so they all know about guns and how to shoot. If the police finds anything remotely suspicious on their stories, this is going to get very Leonora Quine.”

“And then the murder gets the will, if it’s what they want,” said Robin. “Maybe the plan is not to kill more, but imprison them. Are you in the testament?”

“Not that I know of,” said Strike. “God I hope not really, or police will be happy to arrest me.”

“Maybe it was for the drugs, wasn’t he a druggie years ago?” Nick commented leaning back in his chair.

“But wasn’t he like... sixty... something?” Lucy scowled, taking a forkful of her salad without much interest in it. “D’you think he’d still be doing drugs?” Strike shrugged.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t close, ” Strike answered. Lucy nodded slowly.

“Are you okay though?” Lucy looked up at his brother. “I mean, it was your dad... If mine died, even if we aren’t super close, I’d be sad.”

“He wasn’t my dad Luce, he was a sperm donor, I’m perfectly alright. If anything stressed for what could happen now, but not sad for him... although I’m a bit sad for Al, he was a mess,” Strike sighed. “No, Rokeby doesn’t deserve to be called my father, he left things pretty clear when he practically pushed me into homelessness without much remorse.”

“We’ll just take your word that you didn’t kill him,” Nick joked with a laugh. Strike snorted a laugh.

“I’m helping, though. No sidelining me,” Robin looked at Strike, not taking a no for an answer.

“All I ask of you is that at least you don’t let the cameras take photos of you, we don’t need for it to be in the bloody magazines that Jonny Rokeby died expecting a grandchild or something, because if someone’s trying to cut down family members they could go for beanie,” Strike told Robin, who nodded. “I insisted on Anstis that he’d protect your privacy.”

“I’ll be cautious.”

“Excuse me, did you just call my nephew/niece beanie?” Lucy chuckled amused. “You’re such a _Dad..._ ” Strike chuckled.

“Soon we’ll be able to call it by name,” Robin beamed at Strike, seeking physical contact by caressing the back of his neck. “We’ll be debating names. Will know the gender the next time we visit the doctor.”

“We have a bit of a debate with names for girl, because Robin insists on Leda while I deem it will cause confusion sometimes when mentioning either of them, but I have no better suggestion. We did agree on Aiden if it’s a boy.” Strike explained.

“I like that it’s uncommon, like his father’s, and suits both a cute little baby and a bearded grown adult,” Robin nodded, satisfied. “Aiden Theodore Strike. Hopefully I can convince Cormoran on Leda Blue...”

“Leda Blue?” Lucy snorted a laugh. “Sweetie I love you but that name is just...”

“Calls for bullying in school,” Nick joked. Ilsa chastised him with an elbow. Strike laughed and Robin rolled eyes looking sternly at both.

“What’s the problem with wanting to honour your mother with her only granddaughter?” Robin scowled at Strike, not really mad.

“None,” Strike stopped laughing. “It’s just... look my mum never gave any of her children family-honouring names, I’m sure she would be happy with you not doing it either and I’ve already been graced...”

“Tortured,” coughed Nick.

“...with the Blue middle name, we don’t need to give it to our girl.” Strike continued with an amused smile. “Tell you this, if we find a nice name for her, that doesn’t already exist in the family and that goes with Leda, I’ll approve of using Leda as a middle name instead.”

“Mackenzie Leda Strike then!” Robin said excitedly. She had wanted that name all along. Strike, who deeply disliked Mackenzie –had to do with an unbearable classmate named Mackenzie he had once had- looked like when he had witnessed Matthew call Robin ‘the only half-fit girl with a brain’ and nodded slowly.

“Maybe, yes, maybe,” he said conciliatorily. “Now we worry about Jonny’s killer and then we can sit again and discuss those options.”

Robin was already counting on convincing Strike definitely with her pouting and her big blue-grey eyes, so she nodded. The fight wasn’t over.

 

 

 

 

 


	34. Come on, let your parents have some fun (+18)

The sound of flesh slapping flesh echoed in the room along with Strike’s grunting and Robin’s soft moans. After a long morning investigating the death of Jonny Rokeby, they had gone to their twenty-four weeks appointment at the OB-GYN and found out they were expecting the first baby girl in both families, but everything seemed alright so far. As they arrived home, they decided to still use Aiden, so the baby got officially named Aiden Leda Strike. She had already kicked often but not that much to be a motive of concern, and apparently the Strike genetics –and maybe Rokeby’s- had kicked in already and she was between the biggest 24-weeks-old unborn babies their doctor claimed to have ever seen. They talked and agreed that it was probably those genetics that saved the baby from still being smaller than normal, like she had been at first, for Robin’s alcoholism during the first three months, and imagined that if Robin hadn’t suffered that, the baby would’ve been even bigger.

By the time they arrived home, they were already kissing pretty intensely or groping the other lasciviously and clothes had soon flown away, leading to their current situation; Robin naked lying on her side with her belly supported on a pillow and cradled by one hand, her sweaty, blushed face hidden against the crook on an arm she was supporting her head on, her red, swollen lips slightly parted as she moaned softly and her eyes shut close. Her gown breasts, so sensitive that she refused to let Strike anywhere near them, were still in her special bra for pregnant women, which made her more comfortable. Strike knelt on a couple pillows thrown on the floor by the verge of the bed, leaning over Robin as he held her legs with one arm and kept his free hand rubbing Robin’s clit as he hammered inside of her at a lower force than he would’ve applied if it was a non-pregnant woman. Strike’s naked form left on display his dark, monkey-ish mane of chest and belly hair, and his eyes shut close as he concentrated on the feeling of Robin tightening around him. The woman was so wet his fingers often slid off her clit, losing grip.

“How’re you doing?” Strike panted. They had been on it for a while, it took longer than usual for Robin now that she was so pregnant and often interrupted by baby kicking, and he had had to think of Quine’s guts more frequently than he’d ever like to in order to deny himself orgasms time after time so he could focus on her. Now it was starting to hurt.

“Uh, f-“ Robin groaned. Strike opened his eyes, analysing Robin’s facial expression, and then she put a hand on his pubis. “Bugger, stop, stop-uh.” She was shutting her eyes looking in pain all of the sudden, so Strike immediately exited her and scowled in concern, using a hand to rub up and down her back.

“Did I...?”

“No, Aiden’s kicking,” Robin sighed in frustration and moved a hand to rub soothing circles around her belly, she had been so close. “Come on love, let daddy and I have just a little bit of fun...” she murmured looking down.

“Maybe less deep?” Strike suggested still rubbing her clit.

“Oh, wait, that’s good, oh that’s really... yes...” with a laugh, Strike lowered his face and sucked on her clit in the exact right way to make her cum undone with a yelp, a hand flying to grab his curls.

“Okay, now I need a hand,” Strike stood up with a groan, a hand gripping his painfully hard member. Robin let out a puff of air looking at it and looked apologetically at him.

“I’m sorry...”

“Not your fault,” Strike leaned to kiss her and rushed to the bathroom. A few seconds later, Robin heard a long groan and laughing.

Minutes later, they were back to work, sitting at the dining-sitting room with their files about Rokeby’s murder on the table, both in their pyjamas, both with big mugs of tea. The alibis of Strike, Jenny Graham, Al and Eddie Rokeby had been checked and proven, as well as the ones of every one of Rokeby’s children and their mothers. Rokeby hadn’t been in any drug businesses in the last year, police was pursuing everyone who had ever sent him a death threat and the list was so big Strike was worried they’d take far too long in checking everyone, without adding the staff of the house. Furthermore, the Met was more convinced every day that Jonny Rokeby had shot himself, so they weren’t going to do much more efforts to try to prove otherwise.

There had been no fingerprints found in the entire house pointing to a clear murderer, only those of the family and staff, all of them having solid alibis, no traces of anything in the house, no witnesses. The house’s CCTV footage had been deactivated by Rokeby and the staff had been ordered by Rokeby to take the night off conveniently during the night of the murder, and the only other they could’ve counted on came from a bank near the house, in the same street, that pointed to half the street, but the murderer must’ve known because they had entered and exited the house without passing by that half. Again, this just made it look like suicide more, like Rokeby planned it all to kill himself with no one seeing. However, to Robin and Strike it was a murder investigation, since for police it was a suicide investigation.

“But it had to be family, right?” Robin scowled after half an hour revising their files. “The killer had to know the cameras of the area, had to know Rokeby would send the staff home for the night and deactivate his CCTV, that he’d be alone... who else would do this?”

“The question is, why did Rokeby do all of that?” Strike wondered, looking at her.

“Do you think he expected a visit? A lover, perhaps? So he didn’t want witnesses, Rokeby could’ve told the person where the banks CCTV’s were.” Strike nodded.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” Robin seemed proud of having reached the same conclusions on her own. “If he wasn’t doing any drugs, for who else would he have bothered so much? Who else would he meet with in his underwear, take them to his bedroom?”

“But the entire family has solid alibis and Wardle hasn’t been able to locate any lovers. His phone was clean, no one knows anything, the house was clean, there wasn’t gossip around him... who had means and opportunity?” Strike sat thoughtful, looking at Robin, who was frustrated. “It’s odd, isn’t it? The murderer was so good. Left no clues. It reminds me of the Landry case.”

“And it was family who did it.”

“Yes, but what’s more important is that there was a lot of information that people didn’t actually know, because Landry had many secrets.”

“Do you think Rokeby had a double life?” Robin looked at him thoughtful and nodded.

“I think what happened with his personal life is only between his murderer and himself.” Said Robin.

“I agree... so police won’t find anything. And if the person who did it was so smart and close to Rokeby it was probably rich so it doesn’t fear the police and has money enough for a whole team of lawyers.”

“The murderer is someone cold and smart, someone thoughtful who had it all organised. It’s someone who was going to meet with Rokeby that night, someone who was going to take advantage of the meeting to kill him and run away without leaving any clue. It wasn’t someone who fought and lost its shit, this was calculated with a cold mind,” said Robin, thinking of a psychological profile. “And it had money and gun training. Wardle said the bullet went straight to his head, they really didn’t want for Rokeby to survive. Listen Corm, I know you always say motive’s a shit but... I think only for this case, we should start by motive. Someone went through a lot of effort and planning to kill him and make it look like a suicide, it must’ve had strong reasons, even more if it was someone close to Rokeby, something must’ve made the killer take the step from friend or family to his executor.”

“Pff...” Strike sighed deeply, leaning back. He was craving a cigarette but he definitely quit smoking when Robin announced the pregnancy, since he didn’t want smokes around her, not even from his mouth when he kissed her after smoking. Robin appreciated it very much. “It could be anything. Jealousy, money, family feud, competence...”

**. . .**

A week later, as neither Strike nor Wardle managed to get any further evidence, it was officially closed as a suicide investigation. The last straw was finding in Rokeby’s laptop a private journal in which he spoke as a depressed man thinking of suicide, and finding out that the gun was one Rokeby owned and usually stored in his private safe box in his bedroom, only he knew the password. Strike and Robin were starting to think, too, that it was a suicide, no matter how much Rokeby’s sons and wife swore he was a happy man who would never do something like that.

“Why don’t get out of here for a bit?” Robin suggested one day at the office, sensing Strike’s frustration and massaging his shoulders while standing behind hid chair. “It’s almost July, why don’t we head to Cornwall, uh? Have some relaxing days away from all of this before Aiden is born?”

“Al is a mess,” Strike sighed, closing a file of another of their cases. “And he says the style of the journal they found isn’t the one in which he would usually write, he knows Jonny, he knows he couldn’t have done this...”

“Remember that lieutenant you told me who killed himself?” Robin whispered, pressing her lips against his curls. “He had been the life and soul of his birthday party right the same day, right? But he did it.” Strike nodded with a sigh.

Lucy, who carried the burden of their mother’s death for the both of them, would’ve said this was affecting him because of their mother, and Strike would’ve denied it because he never dwelled in the past. It hadn’t affected him with Lula Landry or anyone else, it never affected him. But this time, as he saw Al cry in front of him, crumbling down as they talked over dinner at Strike and Robin’s house recently, he saw himself. He had been so sure Leda was killed, he still was... why would Al be wrong? Sons know their mothers. When he vocalized this out loud to Robin, the younger, pregnant detective breathed out and sat on his table, her left leg brushing with Strike’s left knee and causing Goosebumps, only accentuated by how she caressed his left arm, until she reached his hand and brought it to her lips.

“I’m fine,” assured Strike. “I just don’t want to undermine him like I was undermined. He’s my little step-brother, after all, and he’s helped us all he’s been able to... I know what he’s feeling like. I just want to be thorough. Making sure all is properly investigated and that if Rokeby did it, we find enough evidence for Al to be sure, so he can have peace of mind.”

Robin nodded silently contemplating him, massaging his skull with her fingers while bringing his head closer until he was leaning with his left cheek on the side of her belly and his arms haphazardly around her.

“We’ll go to St. Mawes and look for inspiration, and we will resolve this. But sitting here until our brains burn doesn’t help,” said Robin. By all answer, Strike closed his eyes and nodded, feeling their unborn daughter kicking softly against his cheek, as if checking what that weight was and once recognized, stopping.

“You’re right, we need a proper holiday before Aiden wrecks up our lives forever.” Robin snorted a laugh and looked down at his mane of hair. This man was starting to be way more than just a boyfriend or her daughter’s father.

 

 

 


	35. Is this love?

Robin roared in laughter lying back against her towel, her grown belly in full display as she wore a bikini, her slightly-less-pale-than-usual skin still covered by some drops of water from the previous bath and her damp hair up in a messy bum. She had just been contemplating how Jack, Nick and Ilsa played a volley match against Lucy and Greg and their eldest son –the youngest was eating sitting on Ted’s knees-, while she ‘babysat’ Zahara, who built a sand castle sitting next to her. Strike had been lying next to her until he decided it wasn’t fair that Lucy and Greg were winning and he had gotten up and caught Lucy from behind, lifting her up right when she was about to get a ball, and now she was laughing-yelling as Strike threatened to throw her on the water.

Strike’s prosthetic leg was covered by a skin-coloured waterproof protector, and he was fitter than Robin had ever met him. She knew he had been working out in his free time, because she had caught him a few times, and now he barely eat crap except when they absolutely had to ask for take-out and it was always the healthiest as possible. It all started when Robin had to take care of her diet and live as healthily as possible for her pregnancy, and since she lived with Strike, she had inevitably rubbed-forced it in. Now he was five full stones lighter, which was perfect for his stump and his self-esteem and was about what the Internet said was a healthy weight for his height.

“You freaking bear,” Lucy chuckled as Strike finally let her go.

“Sh! Children present Lucy, what a filthy mouth...” Strike smirked as he walked back to Robin, Zahara, and the elderly group. Ted, Joan, Michael, Linda and Ilsa’s parents had tagged along. It was a chance for Robin’s parents to meet the closest Strike had to parents and so far it was going great, as the six sat on beach chairs drinking beer and eating the food they had brought. “Is that a lake Zahara?” he asked the baby girl, whose dark skin shun with the sun, just like the beaming smile she had when Robin decided to sit and play with her, like she had just done. Strike wasn’t so naive to think the child would be beaming for his voice.

“We made a tiny lake, didn’t we?” Robin smiled at Zahara, kissing the top of her head covered by a hair as black as Strike’s. The castle was barely a mountain, but it was surrounded by a little lake.

“Let me rub some more cream on you,” Strike sat behind Robin on the towel, putting a generous amount of sun-cream before rubbing it on Robin’s back and shoulders, massaging in a way that made Robin close her eyes and bit her lip to prevent a filthy moan from escaping them.

Lucy’s team won the match in the end and they tried not to rub it in Jack’s face too much, while Nick and Ilsa went to fetch their daughter and feed her, covering her with kisses in the process. Robin smiled at them, knowing because of Ilsa herself how hard they had craved a family for years. Zahara was a little spoiled, but she deserved it.

“Do you think we’ll be like that?” Robin asked Strike, turning to kiss his cheek as he had moved to hug her from behind.

“Uh...” Strike looked at his friends and shrugged. “Nah, we’ll spoil Aiden less. And she’ll spend an unreasonable amount of time playing Cluedo, most likely.” He added with a smirk, making her laugh, which only made him smile more. They had only been together for thirteen weeks, three months, so it was definitely too early for ‘I love you’, but their latest dates had had Strike very close to saying it, although he had gulped the words every time.

At night, when everyone had gone to bed, Strike slid out of bed, kissed Robin, got dressed and left the house. The first night of July was fresh in St. Mawes, with the breeze of the ocean and the permanent taste of salt in his mouth, his Cornish accent popping out more frequently. It wasn’t very late at night so he walked by the harbour and stood observing the boats as he leaned against the railing that separated the crosswalk from the ocean beneath.

Strike felt his head full of thoughts and the craving for a cigarette stronger than ever. Two years before, he had been keeping himself single on purpose, having sex sporadically with random women and trying to forget about Charlotte and all those years of what he had called love. Now, he was expecting a daughter with his best friend, someone he cared so very deeply about, he knew, and that he of course felt strongly attracted to. Strike knew he must love her in some way, just like he loved Nick and Ilsa in some manner, and if his story with Charlotte hadn’t happened he would’ve probably said he was in love with Robin already. He had known the woman for the past two years, and Robin remained the one he trusted the most, the one he found the funniest, the one he shared the most with, who understood him most and with whom he fell into the most comfortable, easiest relationship he had ever had. Robin had never lied to him, he knew, Robin had never taken advantage and Robin just understood him so well. They matched with such ease, like two puzzle pieces who had finally found the other to fit perfectly with.

And yet, was it love?

Strike wouldn’t dare compare it with what he had felt for Elin, with whom he had discovered himself to be broken, unable to emphasize with her pain when they had broken up or when he had forgotten dates. Back then Strike had assumed Charlotte had made him unable to love again, to dare and give himself away like that, too broken to emphasize with another woman, and now his eyes widened as he stared at the boats, realizing  _that wasn’t what had happened_ .

He remembered vividly the anxiety, the physical pain, the anguish, when he had seen Robin crashing Nick’s father’s taxi, when he had been on the other side of a phone-call as she was attacked, or when he had seen her cry and hurt for Matthew all the times he had. He hadn’t been indifferent to any of that the way he had been about Elin’s suffering, he had felt Robin’s pain as his own and when he had found Robin after Matthew had almost killed her, he had hurt like never before. The anguish he had felt during those long hours waiting for her to be okay had been asphyxiating and Strike remembered when he had for one tortuous second thought ‘what if she dies?’ and his imagination had gone blank darkness, unable to conceive a world without her.

And what about the good?

Strike remembered too how happy Robin made him. With Robin he had felt things he had never felt before with anyone, the genuine happiness when he made her laugh, the laugh in his throat produced with so much ease at something Robin said, the bigger joy talking nonsense with her in an old, battered Land Rover than having sex with his girlfriend of the time. Robin had always made him feel  _more._ With her, feelings came multiplied by a hundred, the good and the bad. Elin hadn’t given him that. Charlotte had given him that in the unhealthiest of ways. With Robin it was balanced, healthy... because Robin, differently from Charlotte, never intended to purposely hurt him, but to protect him. Robin fought to free him of any pain, while Charlotte deliberately raised the knife time after time, Charlotte had wanted for him to save her, to be the victim and him the knight in a shining armour, to have a dramatic, unhealthy relationship just hurting himself and being happy as she saw how far he could get to make her happy.

Robin was the opposite. Robin had come to his rescue even when he hadn’t wanted it, and he had come to hers just to find her refusing to look anything but a self-sufficient, strong woman who didn’t need a saviour. Robin never wanted a special, different treatment, just wanted to be perceived as a whole, as a powerful woman, as a warrior and a fighter. Their daughter’s name, ironically, meant ‘fiery’ and Strike wished more than anything that she had her mother’s flame. Robin always saved the day, she didn’t want anyone to save hers. She was happy and content, and even when she was miserable, she refused to be a weight in anyone’s shoulders. She didn’t run from her life... she embraced it.

And like Aiden, Robin had effortlessly tamed the ogre and made him quickly and genuinely crave her company, like no one else had. They were like infections, creeping their way into him... and he smiled at the thought.

Perhaps it was too soon to say ‘I love you’, but now Strike thought he probably was falling in love. And that with Robin, those things would always seem to come too soon, just like their daughter, but they’d always feel right despite it all.

When Strike came back home, he entered his childhood bedroom cautiously, and immediately scowled at the sound of anguished moans. Strike turned the lamp on and saw Robin was sleeping lying on her back, with a scowl in her face and a pained expression. She was having a nightmare. He knew he wasn’t supposed to wake her up, but he also refused to let her be anguished like that. This wasn’t, he knew, one of those silly nightmares people must be left to dream... this one was a serious storm.

“Robin, wake up,” Strike put a hand on her shoulder, sitting on the bed and leaning towards her. Robin’s eyes opened and she coughed as if asphyxiated, sitting up and supporting her forehead on his clavicle. He put his arms around her and rubbed soothing circles on her back as she tried to breathe normally. “You’re safe, little bird. You’re safe.” He kissed the top of her head giving her a gentle squeeze before pulling apart to look at her.

“That was bad,” Robin breathed out. “Thank you, I’m okay now.” She forced a little smile, but Strike was having none of that.

“You will be,” he assured, getting up and changing back into his pyjama.

“Why are you dressed?” Robin said sitting up, her arms around her belly. “Did you go somewhere?” Strike could feel the anxiety in her tone. Did she think he was fucking someone else, someone who hadn’t gained eight pounds in seven months? Or did she think he had tried to abandon them like Jonny had abandoned Leda, only acceding to pay child care after a paternity test?

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went to see the harbour,” Strike said sincerely as he folded his clothes and manoeuvred himself into his pyjama. “You seemed fast asleep and I didn’t want to wake you up.” Robin nodded, lying back on the bed.

“I guess I’m too big now, it must be uncomfortable for you...” she muttered, looking away. Strike frowned as he removed his prosthetic and then he slid beside her, rolling to his side and kissing her shoulder as he caressed her belly. Robin no longer slept with a t-shirt, finding it too uncomfortable, but in loose pyjama shorts and a bra for pregnant women.

“Absolutely not,” Strike whispered against her skin. “My brain was just too excited thinking about you and Aiden to fall asleep. Besides, who are you calling too big? You’re twenty-six weeks pregnant and still weight less than me!” he added with a chuckle, making her smile a little as she looked at him, their faces inches apart as he supported his cheek on her clavicle. She bent an arm to caress his cheek with the tip of her fingers.

“So you weren’t with someone else?” Robin asked timidly.

“Of course not,” he kissed her cheek. “The only someone else I’ve got is our little Aiden.”

“Oh well...” she smiled at him, the lamp had been turned off but the moon illuminated her face just enough. “Not so scared of fatherhood anymore, uh?”

“Oh no, I’m scared shitless,” Robin laughed softly, making him grin. “But I see how good you are with Zahara, and I know that you’ll help me along the way with Aiden. Besides, I know she’ll bring the best of me just like you did.”

Their eyes locked as they kissed softly. Maybe he was already in love.

 

 

 


	36. Dance Aiden, dance!

Blue Öyster Cult was on tour at the moment and was giving a concert in Falmouth. Naturally, Lucy and Cormoran had wanted to go for the old times, Robin hadn’t really opposed and after Ted and Joan manifested they were fine babysitting all of Lucy’s boys, Greg acceded to go under Lucy’s puppy eyes. Since the tickets weren’t so expensive and Falmouth was so close, Nick and Ilsa decided that ‘why not?’, got Ilsa’s family to babysit Zahara, and the six went. Robin couldn’t help but laugh at Strike’s excitement. Strike had even managed to find an old ‘Blue Oyster Cult’ shirt in his drawers in his aunt and uncle’s house that fit him now that he was skinnier.

“I thought it was your mum’s favourite band, not yours,” Robin giggled as Strike held her hand tightly while pulling her through the crowd to get to their seats while yelling ‘Baby on Board!’.

“Well yeah but Lucy and I know how to difference between good music and that crap youngsters listen to these days,” said Strike once they managed through. He beamed at the views. “Ah, best seats Robin! Look at that Aiden, daddy’s got you best seats! One has to start ‘hem young,” he added looking serious at Robin, who laughed.

“Look at that!” Lucy beamed. “D’you think they’ll play the classics?”

“They haven’t recorded anything new since 2001, so yeah,” Strike nodded looking at his step-sister. Then he focused on Robin. “The band isn’t what it was in the seventies, obviously... some members retired or left, yet they’re still some of the best.” Robin smiled and nodded. She was excited to finally see such an important part of Leda, Cormoran and Lucy’s lives, although she did worry a little about what Aiden would think of so much noise.

“Don’t tell me you two are also Blue Öyster Cult nerds,” Robin chuckled at Ilsa and Nick, who also seemed excited, yelling with everyone else when the band finally appeared on stage.

“You don’t survive over thirty years of friendship to Cormoran Strike if you don’t learn to appreciate Blue Öyster Cult. At the end Leda forced one to like them if they didn’t already,” said Ilsa adjusting her glasses and looking to be enjoying herself. Robin looked around the multitude of the theatre. Everyone looked to be of middle-older age, with only a small part being under thirty like her.

“Oh, hear that guitar Robin? _That’s_ magic!” Strike yelled over the crowd gesturing a guitar with his hands as the guitar solo of ‘Mistress of the Salmon Salt’ arrived. Robin laughed, marvelled by this new Strike. She was genuinely enjoying them and could see why Leda loved the band. Strike and Lucy yelled the lyrics along, and even Nick and Ilsa sometimes.

However, it passed a few songs before the group stated sounding familiar to her, when they started singing ‘Don’t fear (the reaper)’.

“Oh my God,” Robin’s yaw dropped with the first few guitar chords, recognizing them. “I know this song!” Strike laughed at her.

“I _told you_!” Strike shouted. “ _Romeo and Juliet are together in eternity..._ ” he sang along while doing a small dance. Robin laughed, cheering along at the band. She must’ve heard that song a bunch of times in her childhood.

“My uncle _loves_ this song!” Robin informed Strike, who grinned with widening eyes.

“You’re kidding!”

“I’m not! I should’ve realized!”

“The solo, the solo!” Lucy yelled excitedly at the guitar solo towards the middle-end of the song. She was wild and happy and unrecognisable in Robin’s eyes. Even Greg seemed to be enjoying himself, beaming at his wife and nodding with the music’s rhythm.

By the end of the concert, Robin and Strike were both sweaty and dancing and their feet hurt in a delicious way.

“Bollocks, _that_ was fantastic!” Strike beamed as the six made their way to a pub in Falmouth after the concert. Robin sighed contently flopping on a chair, enjoying the fresh air. “Did Aiden like it?”

“I guess, I’m not throwing up,” Robin giggled rubbing her hands over her belly through her dress. “She seems content.”

“Good,” Strike looked happy, putting an arm around Robin’s shoulders and kissing her cheek. “We have to do these things more often.”

They quickly got into a discussion of the best parts of the concert and Strike felt his worries vanishing in the air while laughing with his friends. He even seemed to like Greg more now, children away and the others healthily drunk, than he usually did. Robin, who had been steadily recovering from the mid-depression she had faced post Matthew. By now her ex-husband was free out of prison, and had paid Robin all he owed her, so she didn’t have to know a thing of him anymore and could slowly try to forget him. There were good days and bad days and, as she looked at her watch and saw the little ‘2’ in one side, she realized this could quickly go from one of the best days to one of the worst.

“Is it really July 2nd?” Robin asked Strike in the middle of eating a plate of meatballs. Strike looked at her and nodded.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Strike kissed between her brows, feeling rather high from the joy of the concert. “Awesome concert, isn’t it?”

“Today’s my wedding anniversary,” Robin blurted out suddenly. She couldn’t let it affect her, she couldn’t let it ruin their good day, but it still felt like a blow in her stomach. A year ago at that hour she had been having sex in the wedding suite of a five stars hotel with views to the Tour Eiffel. She at least wasn’t going to call it love-making. Strike’s eyes widened in recognition and he nodded slowly, his pupils fixed on hers.

“Yes, but...” Strike breathed out. “Today’s the anniversary of the day you got back the job you love. It’s the anniversary of a serial killer’s arrest. It’s the anniversary of my first visit to Masham.”

“And the anniversary of the day I married my abuser,” Robin took a shaky breath. She couldn’t, she wouldn’t... but she couldn’t help it either.

“So what?” Strike shrugged. “Look all you’ve accomplished this past year, Robin. Matthew will never touch you again, no one will. Now you’re free. Now you’re the woman you were meant to be, now you’re expecting your next best adventure...” he put his hand over hers on her belly. “No one is ever going to strip you from your freedom again... Everything’s gonna be okay now. I promise.”

“I called that love,” Robin could see it so clearly in her mind, Matthew, the handsomest boy, smiling at her as he said ‘I do’. “How am I going to know now what love is? When all I know is...” she shook her head.

“Guys,” Strike looked at the table with an apologetic smile. “Robin’s rather tired, we’re going to head back now okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Nick looked at Robin sympathetically, assuming her face was due to her tiredness. “The joys of making a human, yeah?”

“Yeah...” Robin forced a little smile, accepting Strike’s hand as they stood up, her dinner only half-eaten.

“Here, use my car,” Ilsa offered her keys to Strike, who nodded. She drove an automatic that he could drive. “Sleep well you three!”

“Night!” Lucy smiled at them waving goodbye.

Strike walked with Robin away from the group in silence, and they got in Nick and Ilsa’s car, in which they had also arrived there. The Herberts would have to go back in Lucy and Greg’s car. Robin felt guilty right away.

“We don’t have to go, I’m sorry I...” Robin started quickly. Strike stopped her with a gesture and leaning over the console to kiss her shoulder.

“I want to show you something.”

They drove through the darkness for over an hour, until Strike parked by a lake. He opened her door for her and put his jacket over her shoulders, since the night was cold. He kept an arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the lake and they sat by it on a rock.

“What are we doing here?” Robin asked, snuggling into Strike’s warmth.

“Dozmary Pool,” said Strike. “Best known as...”

“The Lady of the Lake’s lake. Excalibur’s lake.” Robin finished. She was a big fan of the legends of King Arthur. Strike nodded, smiling at her. “What are we doing here?” she asked again softly.

“Mum used to take us here every time we came to Cornwall, we loved it here, picnics by the lake, baths...” Strike shrugged. “I always come here to clear my mind whenever I can... although in retrospective it may not be such a good idea at eleven at night.” He snorted a laugh. The only light they had was the car’s light, that Strike had left turned on pointing to the water and them.

“I mean, I guess I wouldn’t be surprised if you murdered me now,” Robin joked darkly, making them both laugh. “I appreciate the thought though... I’m sorry I...”

“You’ve got to stop apologizing for everything, Robin,” said Strike softly. “I get is what you learned with Matthew but... you don’t have to do it anymore. You’re apologizing for being alive, do you realize? For loving something or someone, for feeling, for living, for having an opinion or making a decision... But that’s the Robin who married Matthew. I’ve seen the Robin you are when he isn’t around, like when we went to Barrow-and-Furness... that’s an unapologetic Robin. One who does what she feels is best and doesn’t feel sorry for it. One who is true to herself and who tells anyone who has something to criticize about her that they can’t shove their thoughts up their own arses.” Robin snorted a laugh, and nodded. Strike did have a point.

“Then I guess what I meant is...” Robin bit her lip, thoughtful. “I’m a bit sad and you can sod off if you think it’s wrong.” Strike laughed at that, and she smiled at him.

“C’me on, I’m going to teach you to throw jumping stones on the water...”

“I know how to do that,” Robin said matter-of-factly standing up. She groaned as she difficultly bent to pick of a stone that seemed good enough and she threw it majestically despite her belly. Strike whistled in approval as the stone hit the water’s surface one, two, three, four, five times before sinking, and Robin cheered, raising her fists in the air and making him laugh. “Ten points for the pregnant woman!”

It soon became a competition, as it tended to be for two competitive souls, and Robin was clearly winning, despite Strike’s claims that it was cheating because it was two against one. In the end, they were laughing so much Robin had forgotten her sadness and the night was back to being perfect. As she buried her fingers in Strike’s thick curls and their lips found each other’s, the car’s lights illuminating them, they both felt beaming of happiness. As they pulled apart for air, Robin’s hand flew to her belly.

“Oh, Aiden’s kicking. I think she likes this,” she smiled warmly at Strike, who put his hand over hers and kissed her again for a moment.

“Charlotte and Matthew are our pasts, Robin. This is our present,” said Strike pulling apart and looking intently at her. “And this little one is our future. We’ll love so much again... and this time we will be loved just as hard in return.” Robin grinned at him, beaming, an arm thrown over his neck and her other bent as her hand caressed her belly.

“I promise,” said Robin before tiptoeing to kiss him.

 

 

 


	37. Inside the fam

**Chapter 37:**

“Pull the gun from the pocket in the back of the trousers, pretend to go and caress his hair while they kiss... and bam!” Robin pointed at Strike’s head, her hand forming an ‘L’ and their mouths so close they were almost kissing.

“It’s the distance police said the gun had to be, it supported the suicide theory,” Al, standing next to them nodded. Strike and Robin pulled apart.

“So supposing there was a killer, it had to be super close to him. Close enough to press the barrel against his head,” said Strike. They were in Jonny Rokeby’s bedroom where he had died, after the last of the autopsy results had come out and said Rokeby hadn’t consumed drugs or alcohol hours before he died, and that the gun was pressed against the side of his head, coinciding with the suicide theory. Rokeby’s body had been found three hours after his death. Robin had immediately gotten an idea and insisted they came to prove it.

“It was a lover,” said Robin. “It fits. That’s why Rokeby turned the cameras off, that’s why he told his staff to go, that’s why no doors were forced, he let her in willingly, that’s why they were in his bedroom and he was in his underwear. It doesn’t make any sense if it was anyone but a lover.”

“The only other thing that would make sense is suicide,” Strike nodded.

“But how would a lover do this?” Al asked. “Not even my mum knows my father’s safe box’s number, where the gun was. No one knows it. And there were no other fingerprints, hair, remains of anyone else... the killer had to be wearing gloves to avoid leaving any fingerprints, wouldn’t Dad have suspected of that?”

“Perhaps she told him it was so avoid leaving any prints, in case anyone saw...” Strike shrugged. “If he had been found cheating again he would’ve lost everything. People these days bring celebrities that cheat to hell, they aren’t as forgiving as they were in the seventies.”

“It could’ve been roleplay,” said Robin suddenly, having an idea. “She comes in, tells Jonny she wants to try something new, pretend to be a cop, so she wears plastic gloves and convinces him to give her the gun and charge it for adrenaline, he locks it just in case. Then she maybe goes to the bathroom and while the sound of perhaps the water flows, she unlocks the gun. Before she exists, she tells him to close his eyes, which he, naive, does. So she puts on the silencer and, since the silencer is on, she wouldn’t have to be so close to him because the silencer is almost as long as the gun itself, which explains why the blood didn’t reach her shoes leaving prints. She separated and leaned forwards just enough, she could’ve cleaned herself with a towel or something.”

“It’s a good theory Robin,” Strike nodded, than looked at Al. “Did the police ever investigate where the silencer came from?”

“My dad had some,” said Al. “So they just assumed it was his too, just like the gun.”

“If we can find who bought it, we have the killer,” said Robin, suddenly excited. “At least if my theory is right.” Strike smirked, sharing the excitement, and called Wardle.

It took him full ten minutes, but Strike finally managed to convince Wardle to check where and who bought the silencer. A couple hours later, as Al, Robin and Strike sat for lunch at Strike and Robin’s house, Wardle called back to inform them, with an air of superiority, that it had been bought using one of Jonny’s credit cards that was still in his wallet. The store was small so it didn’t have more than one CCTV that only showed the front door, but the owner remembered Jonny always did those shops himself, he bought all his hunting equipment there.

“Wait... dad couldn’t have done that,” said Al frowning as Strike told them. “It was my birthday. Dad and I celebrated in Amsterdam, there was no way he could’ve been here to buy that. The owner’s lying or doesn’t remember properly.”

“Time to pay him a little visit then,” said Strike with a satisfied smile. “We’ll make Wardle believe us.”

After lunch, the three of them went to the gun shop, guided by Al, who knew where the place was. He had accompanied Jonny there many times. It was a small, discreet store in an alley, which was why Rokeby had picked it, so he could come and go without being seen. The owner and only worker was an old guy in his sixties, with a big belly and small eyes, almost no hair left.

“Al, hey! I’m so sorry to hear of your dad...”

“Cut the crap, Clint,” Al snapped roughly. “You go around telling the police my dad came here and bought the damn gun with which he killed himself, when my dad was with me in Amsterdam for three days at the time. Can you explain to me how he was in two places at once?”

“Look, Al...” the guy panicked, raising hands to try to placate him.

“We can go to the police and have them get you for false testimony and obstruction to justice,” interrupted Strike, his eyes narrowed at the guy. “Or you can tell us the truth and maybe this can stay between us.” Clint sighed, hitting himself in the forehead with a palm.

“Darn it!” Clint said between grilled teeth. Robin, sensing Al was about to snap, put a comforting hand on his back, rubbing up and down. She was only a year older than him, so it felt like one of her brothers. Al was soothed and looked at her in appreciation. “Alright, alright! Look, truth is I don’t remember who bought it, but the computer said it was with Jonny’s card and he always buys his stuff himself so I figured it was him. I didn’t want to look stupid to the police, and I barely make it to the end of the month dude, having people think Jonny Rokeby bought him the gun with which he killed himself was a boost! But you can watch the CCTV for yourselves, alright?”

The four sat in front of the CCTV, Clint showing the time and day at which his computer said the acquisition had been made. Jonny Rokeby didn’t appear anywhere, but a woman called Clint’s attention.

“Oh yeah I remember her!” said Clint excitedly. “Jesus, now that I see her, I remember she came and said she was Jonny’s daughter, that she came in his name. I said I didn’t know he had a daughter so she told me to search in Wikipedia and yeah... then I said I couldn’t just believe her and she...” Clint itched his head, looking preoccupied. “She paid me five hundred quid to pretend she was never here. Like I said, my business barely sustains itself and I’ve got two teenagers to feed, you know how expensive uni is? She was his daughter, I figured there was nothing wrong with it...”

“You let a murderer get away and covered her arse, you fucking little...” Robin had to physically restrain Al, who wouldn’t oppose a pregnant woman. Strike rolled eyes and took his phone. He quickly googled pictures of his four step-sisters on his father’s side; Maimie Rokeby, with Rokeby’s first wife, Gabriella and Daniella with Carla Astolfi, and Prudence Donleavy with Lindsey Fanthrope. Prudence and Strike were the only children of Jonny born outside matrimony.

“Do you recognize any of them?” Strike asked Clint, showing him the phone. In the CCTV they could only see the back of her hair entering and exiting the store, and it was black-and-white.

“That one,” Clint said pointing to a picture. “I’m sure it was her.”

“Prudence Donleavy.” Strike breathed out.

“Dad didn’t have a relationship with her,” Al said as the three walked out of the store. “He said the only children who hadn’t hated him enough for them to build a relationship had been children born inside the matrimony, so he had never met her. It’s absurd she would’ve killed him... he wouldn’t have been so intimate with her. It would’ve been a fucking scandal and besides, how did she get his card?”

“Which is a good reason to make sure she wasn’t seen with him,” said Robin, walking between the two men. “I know this is painful Al, but it all fits...”

“We should go talk with her. Her mum’s an actress, relatively famous. I know where she lives,” said Al, bold. “Perhaps she bought it for someone else.”

Strike agreed that they should talk with Prudence anyway so the three went in Al’s car and Strike convinced Al to wait in it as they talked with Prudence. Actress Lindsey Fanthrope lived in a nice house in Richmond, and her only child just a couple streets aside. Prudence, after hearing it was part of the investigation about Rokeby’s death and that it was either talk with them or the police, acceded to let them in.

 

 

 


	38. Daddy Batman

**Chapter 38:**

“So he also played and abandoned your mother,” said Prudence as she walked inside the house with them, guiding them into a luxurious white and grey sitting-room with modern furniture and some paintings and photographs on the walls. “Why are you helping him then?”

“Because if there’s a murderer out there someone else could get hurt,” Strike said simply. “Where do you get all this money from?”

“Mum likes to care for me and I also get some acting jobs, well-paid,” Prudence shrugged. “Do you fancy a drink?”

“No, thanks,” Robin answered for the both of them. Prudence flopped on an armchair in a sofa in front of the one Strike and Robin had been indicated to sit on.

“Rokeby’s first grandchild uh?” Prudence side smiled vaguely, pointing at Robin.

“Yeah well... we don’t really consider him part of our family much. Like Cormoran said, we do this because of justice and security,” said Robin, cautious.

“Did you know him?” Strike asked.

“It took a paternity test to prove he was my dad and afterwards I never say him again,” the woman, in his thirties, looked young and beautiful. “I’m the reason Carla Astolfi left him. He never wanted to hear a word from me, but he was forced to pay child support. I’m indifferent to him, really. I’m sorry for the children who did consider him a father though, it must be rough. I can’t imagine if my mum died...” Prudence let a long sigh out and bit her lip looking down.

“You told the police you were with your boyfriend the night Rokeby died,” said Strike consulting his notebook that he always carried with him. “He assured you ate pasta together for dinner, and a neighbour said she saw you two exit the flat early morning.”

“That’s right,” said Prudence, nodding. Strike then asked her for an alibi of the day the shopping of the silencer had been done. “I don’t know, quite long time ago...” she shrugged.

“Have you ever visited a gun store?” asked Robin. They couldn’t tell her exactly what they knew because she could go and hurt Clint.

“No, I don’t do guns,” said Prudence, shaking her head. “Why are you interrogating me, am I a suspect? Rokeby killed himself.”

“Yes, but we suspect Rokeby had a lover,” said Strike, shrugging. “A witness said to have seen you two together, kissing.”

“What? That’s impossible, and disgusting! Rokeby’s my dad and fucking old, I would never... and I have a boyfriend,” Prudence frowned in disgust.

“And police asked for the CCTV of the store where Rokeby bought the silencer for his gun and he wasn’t seen anywhere, but you were, Prudence. The owner claims he doesn’t know you or remember you, but the CCTV doesn’t lie,” Robin commented casually. Prudence’s eyes widened.

“You’re obviously confusing me with someone else. You have absolutely no proof of anything. Strike saw a photo of Prudence in a police costume in the wall, smiling to the camera next to another man. He pointed at it.

“You play a cop?”

“I did, the filming ended in the summer.”

“So you have access to police gloves, I imagine it’s a common prop there,” said Strike. “Avoid leaving any prints.” Prudence narrowed her eyes at him.

“I’m only hearing conjectures, Cormoran. I have a solid alibi. I didn’t kill him, I don’t even know how to manipulate a gun. I’m sorry for our step-siblings, but their father shot himself.”

“Do you know what I think happened?” said Strike. “I think you planned this thoroughly over time. You wanted revenge for how Rokeby played your mum, as you put it yourself, so you contacted Rokeby, made him believe you could be lovers. You earned his trust and we all know a man who had no problem cheating time after time wouldn’t have with fucking his own daughter. You made him show you his guns, took his credit card one day after sex, bought the silencer passing as him and then dropped the card back into his wallet. You staged it all so Rokeby would let you in, you’d pretend to be a cop just like you did in the movie, and you would get him to lend you the gun. You killed him and made it look like he killed himself. Then you went to your boyfriend’s house and made him say you had been there earlier.”

“That’s a very nice theory,” Prudence laughed. “But you have no proof and I’ve got better things to do than listening to this nonsense. So if you’ll excuse me, get out.”

“That didn’t go so well,” Robin said as they walked outside the house. “Do you think you should’ve told him what you know?”

“If she’s scared she’ll rush and make a mistake,” Strike opined interlacing their fingers as they walked towards Al’s car, where the younger man waited patiently. “Our fame precedes us Robin, she has reasons to be scared.”

“What if we’re wrong?” Robin asked him, worried.

“We aren’t,” said Strike, confidently. “It all fits together. I can feel it.”

At night, Strike sat on a rocking chair in Aiden’s nursery, contemplating the crib with his mind in Rokeby’s case. They needed to find out more evidence, so Wardle would believe them, and Strike wasn’t sure where that evidence could be. Maybe they could get Prudence’s boyfriend to crack and admit Prudence arrived to his house later than she did, but he thought it unlikely to happen.

Robin appeared at the doorstep with her house robe on after having showered and gotten into her pyjamas, and looked at him supporting on the doorframe. The door had been left opened by Strike and a placard on the door read ‘Aiden’ in lilac and blue.

“Can’t get it out of your head, right?” Robin murmured. Strike looked up at her, so beautiful and glowing next to him, old and ogre-like, and smiled.

“Yeah well,” he shrugged and patted his lap. Robin grinned walking to him and carefully sitting on his lap, leaning back against his chest as he kissed her cheek and put his hands around her belly. “You get prettier and prettier every day, woman.”

“Thanks,” Robin rolled eyes with a chuckle. “Your daughter’s got a talent for boxing, though; the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“I’m just crossing fingers she looks like you.”

“I agree, I wouldn’t want her to come out with such a beard,” Robin joked, making him laugh. “We’re going to resolve this, okay? We’re the best of the best,” she pressed her lips against his temple, turning a little to throw her arms around his neck.

“I know,” Strike nodded. “We’re a fine team.”

“Damn right,” Robin moved to kiss him on the lips softly. “You’re such an incredible man, Corm... Aiden’s gonna be lucky to call you daddy.” Strike snorted a laugh, looking at her.

“I’ll be lucky if she calls me daddy instead of Batman,” he joked looking very serious at her and she frowned not understanding it, looking at her. Slowly, she caught the Batman & Robin pun and her jaw dropped, slapping his chest lightly as he laughed loudly.

He was happy.

 


	39. Missing Daddy

**Chapter 39:**

On Wednesday, as Strike stayed in the office to take care of a couple clients, Robin went to the restaurant where Prudence’s boyfriend worked as a bartender. She wanted to see if it was possible that the boyfriend had lied in his statement in anyway. She had previously called and arranged a meeting with the manager, a tall blonde woman in her late forties who was happy to collaborate with ‘such a famous detective’ clearly meaning Strike, but Robin told herself she was just as good, with which Strike would’ve agreed.

_The Ivy_ was in Covent Garden, in the middle of an area so full with theatres it was hard to keep count. Situated in West Street, it didn’t open until twelve, so Robin waited half an hour while she observed what was new in the theatres before returning to the green awning with  _The Ivy_ in golden letters.

Robin was careful to keep eyes out in case the boyfriend appeared, because she was sure Prudence would’ve told him and it wasn’t hard to identify a pregnant woman with a bright honey hair. Another bartender guided her to a room in the second floor that looked like the manager’s office and offered her a tea while she waited. A few minutes later, Sabrina Hayec appeared, looking stressed but smiling as she shook Robin’s hand.

“Welcome,” said Hayec. “You must be the Detective, Mrs. Strike was it?” Robin blushed.

“We’re not married, actually. Robin Ellacott,” Robin reminded her.

“Oh, right, sorry,” Hayec laughed nervously and nodded. “So how can I help you?”

“Alexander Rokeby, Jonny Rokeby’s son, asked of my partner, Mr. Strike, and myself, to investigate their father’s suicide under the suspicion that it might have been murder,” Robin explained. “Therefore my partner and I are investigating deeply the alibis everyone related to Mr. Rokeby gave. The last one on our list is the alibi of Ms. Prudence Donleavy, one of Mr. Rokeby’s daughters. Her alibi is her boyfriend, Mr. Troy Deacon, he works here right?”

“That’s right, he’s one of our bartenders, but he actually has the dinner shift so I’m afraid he’s not here for you to speak with him right now,” Hayec answered, collaborative. Robin’s eyebrows rose.

“Actually, it would be necessary for him to not know we’ve been making questions,” said Robin. “But you said he has the dinner shift?”

“Yes, he’s never worked the lunch shift. He was one of our latest additions, hired during Christmas. We were low on personnel for the night, so he came, he did very good and we decided to keep him there.”

“Do you know which hours he worked on the night Mr. Rokeby died?”

“Uh, I can check,” Hayec spent a few minutes in her computer until Robin finished her tea and then smiled triumphal. “Found it! We closed at 23:30PM that day. He was here until then, from 16:30PM. He checked in and out.”

“Do you have CCTV footage that further proofs this?” asked Robin. “Because Mr. Deacon told the police he was home at 22:30PM so...” she left it in the air. Hayec frowned and nodded, typing away in her computer. She gestured for Robin to come and see and at exactly 23:30 he was seen kicking out the last clients and a quarter of hour later he and another bartender were closing the door of the restaurant and securing it.

“Do I have to fire him?” Hayec asked cautiously. “He lied to the police?”

“He lied but don’t do anything until police acts, okay? Thank you so much Ms Hayec you might’ve just caught a murderer.”

Full of excitement, she called Strike the moment she left the restaurant, half-jogging back to the office, but he didn’t pick up. This wasn’t weird, since he was probably busy doing surveillance, but it did bother Robin slightly not to be able to explode the great news. Instead, she called Wardle, which she didn’t find half as satisfying, but she managed to get Wardle to investigate further and interrogate Prudence again.

She resisted jogging upstairs to the office –she was, after all, thirty weeks pregnant now- and panting but grinning, she entered the office.

“Cormoran?” she called excitedly. “You won’t believe what I’ve...” she opened the inner office door and the words failed to reach her throat.

The office looked like a tornado had come in. All the furniture was out of place and thrown on the floor. Drawers, the filing cabinet and papers thrown to the floor, as well as the desk’s contents, there were drops of blood, not many and not very big  _but still_ , here and there, and the window was broken.

“C-!” before Robin could call again, someone grabbed her from behind and pressed a cloth against her nose and mouth. She held her breath and elbowed on the ribs as hard as she could.

She was immediately let go and a man bent forward with a grunt, moment in which she kneeled him on the face and then kicked in the groin. The man slumped to the floor and Robin grabbed a lamp that had usually been on the desk and now was on the floor, hitting the attacker on the head as hard as she could. Glass flew everywhere and the man stopped moving. Robin then rolled the guy to look up and, not recognizing him, flopped on him. He grunted again and she knew he was alive. He opened his eyes and punched her on the face, but she recovered quickly and punched him on the nose, then rising a little and flopping back down with all her weight of a pregnant woman on his crotch, making him grunt.

“And you call yourself a man, attacking a pregnant lady from behind?” Robin shouted at him. “Who are you and what have you done to him?!” The guy didn’t answer and Robin punched him again. “Talk!” The man seemed unconscious now so Robin puffed. “Fine then.” She punched him again just for the joy of it and called Wardle, who got moving.

Then, Robin found a roll of wide tape and wasted the whole roll on covering the man with it, taping his arms to his body and his legs together so he wouldn’t move, unless he planned on rolling over the floor like a barrel. She kicked his crotch again.

“Shitheads like you _really_ piss me off,” Robin muttered, calling Strike again. She heard his mobile and her stomach sank further seeing it was between the papers on the floor. “Mr. Crowdy!” Robin shouted then, hurrying downstairs to Mr. Crowdy’s office.

“What’s up?” Mr. Crowdy removed his earphones as he saw her come in. He liked her, which wasn’t how he felt towards Strike. “What happened to your face?” Robin felt blood in her lip, and shook her head.

“What happened to my face?! You’re always asking what’s going on every time we have an argument up there and now that I’ve just gotten assaulted in the office...”

“Assaulted? What?” Mr. Crowdy stood up, scowling. “Are you okay?”

“I’m not!” Robin shouted. “Where were you?!”

“I’m sorry, I was listening to music and besides, I no longer ask! I’ve gotten so used to your noise it’s just part of the background...” Mr. Crowdy seemed genuinely sorry. “Are you more hurt than that? Did you call the police?”

“Where’s Cormoran?” Robin asked, ignoring his questions. Feeling Aiden kicking furiously, she flopped on a chair. “He’s been assaulted too, and taken away. I left this office at ten and he was here, he was supposed to go out but there’s blood and his phone on the floor of a destroyed office and he would’ve called me...”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t here until half an hour ago, I didn’t hear anything...” Mr. Crowdy sighed. “I’m sure he’s fine. He’s enormous and a veteran, he’s been in worse situations...”

“He’s been _kidnapped_. Presumably by a murderer, how worried do you think... uh...” Robin bent forward, rubbing her belly. “Aiden honey, please calm down...”

“Should I drive you to the hospital?” a concerned Mr. Crowdy asked.

“I’m fine...” Robin sighed walking back upstairs and Mr. Crowdy followed her. As they walked into the inner office and he caught glance of the man tied up on the floor.

“Is he alive?”

“Of course he is,” after checking the guy was still there, she walked to the outer office, where no one else was hiding, and flopped on the sofa, that farted. She sighed pinching the top of her nose bridge and leaning back. “Is okay, Mr. Crowdy, you can leave. I’ll wait for the Met.”

“I’ll stay until they come then,” Mr. Crowdy filled a glass of water and offered it to Robin, who smiled in appreciation and drank it. Aiden seemed more relaxed now. “So his name’s Aiden?” he asked casually.

“It’s a girl. I know, odd name,” Robin shrugged. “We kind of fell in love with it. Means fiery. It’s Celtic.” Mr. Crowdy nodded.

“A baby girl... can’t imagine Strike with one,” Mr. Crowdy smiled. “Wish you the best then.”

“Thanks,” Robin rubbed soothing circles in her belly. Then suddenly a sob left her lips. “What am I gonna do if they kill him?”

 

 

 


	40. Girl power

**Chapter 40:**

Three days later, there was still no clue as to where the hell Strike was, but both Prudence Donleavy was nowhere to be found, which automatically pointed them guilty. Jonny Rokeby’s death had occurred at 22:46. Deacon had claimed to have arrived home straight from work at 22:30, that Prudence had already been there and they had had late dinner together and gone to be at eleven. However, they knew now that Deacon wouldn’t have been home until at least a quarter past midnight, if he was lucky with traffic, leaving Prudence with no alibi after she had finished filming at 17PM. With such evidence against him, Deacon admitted he had only lied because Prudence told him if she didn’t have an alibi police would automatically deem her murderer even if she had done nothing wrong, and Deacon believed her. Now, he confessed their relationship was open and they both screwed other people, but he didn’t knew about Prudence’s men, only that he was rich because sometimes he left her his credit card so she could buy herself some luxury.

In the inner office they had found a hair belonging to Prudence, and the director of the movie in which Prudence had played a cop had told the police the actors were allowed to keep souvenirs and Prudence had taken her cop uniform and cop gloves. Then, a neighbour of the Rokeby’s had remembered having seen a female cop alike Prudence keeping vigilance of the street at a quarter past eleven at night. Furthermore, Prudence had taken a thousand and a half pounds from the bank the day before, possibly to hire the thugs that took Strike.

Robin sat on Strike’s chair, crestfallen, as she put the last thing of the inner office back into its rightful place, sliding a framed picture inside the first drawer. It was a picture of Robin standing on the beach, grinning with her twenty-something weeks of pregnancy as Strike hugged her from behind and kissed her cheek, both in the beach of St. Mawes.

“They’ll find him all okay, you’ll see,” Lucy handed her a mug of tea and sat on the table, looking crestfallen too.

“ _I_ have to find him,” Robin replied, caressing her belly. “And I will. She won’t grow fatherless.”

“I’m very sorry this has happened,” Al supported his back against the filling cabinet, looking saddened at Robin. “I never wanted for any of you to get hurt...”

“It’s not your fault, Al,” Robin smiled sadly at him, comprehensive. “You’ve lost your dad and Strike, although he might not realize, would’ve done anything to make sure nothing happened to you and your family. You’re his little brother. Besides, this is our job, risking the neck every day and hoping it’s worth it in the end.” She shrugged and took a sip of her tea. She would find the place where they had him.

“With a bit of luck, they’ll set him free,” said Nick. “Wait until he bores them to death with his Latin quotations and his sarcasm...” he added with a chuckle. Robin snorted a sad laugh, but nodded.

“He probably has recited them the entire fucking _Catullus_ by now,” Robin chuckled. The smile fainted as she leaned back and Aiden threw a kick to her lungs and she grunted softly. “You hate when daddy’s gone, don’t you, little boxer?” Robin said softly towards her belly. “Kicking and punching like a true mini Cormoran already...”

Strike thought Robin had been sleeping soundly when it happened and hadn’t noticed, but she had witnessed how sometimes when she was sleeping he’d sing softly rock songs to the belly, presumably Blue Öyster Cult songs, imitating the guitar with the mouth. A few of those times, Robin hadn’t been fully asleep or had been just waking up, and had heard parts of it. Aiden always seemed happy with it, and it had always melted Robin’s heart, since it was something certainly no one would imagine Strike doing, but he was, Robin had seen, a soft dork at heart, keeping an arm protectively around her belly when they slept, sometimes even doing it unconsciously.

“Perhaps she’s gone to one of those abandoned filming locations, she probably has heard tons about them with a mother who’s an actress and being an actress herself,” Ilsa suggested, bouncing Zahara softly. Robin looked at her, her eyes widening.

“Of course, filming locations,” Robin nodded. “Of course, why didn’t I think of it...?” Robin revolved around a mountain of paperwork she had left on top of Cormoran’s desk. “Last night I saw there was an interview Prudence made over a year ago in which she talked about her love for abandoned places. She’s one of these people who post videos in Youtube going to abandoned places, and she particularly loved some studios near Watford, used in the late nineties and never since because they weren’t very big and were too isolated. It’s a very long shot, but...” she shrugged. She found the file where she had written it and read it. Prudence said she often went there for photos or just to explore and make videos. “I’m going to go. Just check around, see if maybe... I don’t know.”

“You’ll need a ride,” said Nick in a tone that implied he was offering himself to drive her. Robin was so pregnant driving had become more than uncomfortable, even more if it was the tricky Land Rover.

“Right, and you shouldn’t go alone in case she’s there so...” Lucy added.

“Not on your bloody life,” Robin stood up. “You three have children and this could be extremely dangerous. I mean I shouldn’t go if I had a choice, but...”

“I’ll go with you,” said Al, nodding as he stood firm. “I have a fast car, no children, and it’s my fault you got dragged into this to begin with. Besides, I have a gun.” Robin looked at him and nodded.

“Right, perfect,” Robin walked towards him after handing Lucy Strike’s phone. “If we’re not back in say, three hours, call Wardle.”

“Stay safe Robin, for Aiden!” Lucy begged her as Robin took her jacket.

“I will,” Robin nodded.

“I’ll take care of them, I swear,” Al added, confident. The two stepped out of the office and after a quick stop home for Al to pick up his gun, the pair got into Al’s car and Al drove them through the city to the countryside.

“Past Watford, near Chorleywood...” Robin indicated checking the GPS of her mobile for the exact location of the studios.

“Near Chorleywood? Where the hell...?” Al asked as he drove his luxurious red car.

“There!” Robin pointed to the sign by the road and Al took a turn, driving through green fields _infested with spiders_ , Robin thought.

It took over an hour, but they finally stopped in front of a big, but small for filming studios, building in the middle of nowhere. Al walked in front of her with the gun on hand. Robin trusted he had done plenty of hunting and yet he could difference between a deer and his huge big brother. They passed through some bushes between big trees and finally reached a metallic door, half opened, and entered a large, dark space. While they blinked to try and see in the dark, they heard some running and Robin instinctively hugged Al from behind. He aimed his gun to the movement, but didn’t shoot.

“Cormoran,” Al breathed out suddenly. Robin looked and, in fact, a ray of light that came through a haphazardly covered by thick planks window, illuminated the figure of Strike, his wrists tied to a hook on the wall above his head, his body suspended barely touching the floor with the tip of his shoes.

“Cormoran!” Robin ran to Strike, seeing now up close how his grey t-shit was covered of spots of blood. She took his face between her hands gently for him to look at him.

His lip was dried out and had dry blood, his eyebrow was purple, and so was his cheek, that had a nasty cut. Dry blood covered half of his face for a wound on his head that looked infected. Strike looked at her and cleared his throat.

“Robin,” he said hoarsely. “Get out, go...”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Robin tiptoed to peck his nose. Al pulled a pocketknife from his pocket and cut the cord that tied Strike’s reddened wrists. Strike fell forward but Robin caught him.

“Let’s go,” Al put one of Strike’s arms over his shoulders and Robin did the same with the other. “Can you walk, brother? Are you alright?”

“Jussabit brused,” murmured Strike hoarsely. He grunted as he tried to support his weight on his prosthesis. “Uh, bollocks...”

“It’s okay bruv, we’ll be your cane,” Al chuckled at his brother.

“Iwass Prudsence,” Strike slurred.

“We know,” Robin nodded, the three slowly walking to the door. “Where’s she?”

“Here,” illuminated by the sunlight that came through the half-opened door, Prudence appeared in front of them, pointing at them with a gun. She smiled at them. “I must admit that I thought just one of my thugs would be enough to get you, but I was surprised...”

“I tend to be underestimated,” Robin grumbled between grilled teeth.

“Let them go,” said Strike. “It’s me you want.”

“No, now she’s given evidence against me and now I’ve lost my life forever,” Prudence snapped. “My boyfriend, my job... everything. Because of you two. That’s how I came up with a plan to make her come, rescue her dear Cormoran. Unfortunately Al and the baby will have to be collateral damage.”

And a bang echoed in the room.

 


	41. The hero brother

**Chapter 41:**

Robin and Strike made a slow walk out of the cemetery, both wearing black. Strike grunted softly every now and then as he made his way using crutches, his stump too bruised to use a prosthesis for a few days more. His face was looking better and healing up, although it still spotted a few closed cuts and bruising. Robin walked next to him, her hands over her belly, crestfallen. It wasn’t the typical look of two people who had just heard they were inheriting almost two hundred thousand pounds, more than enough to pay off all of their debts and start University funds for Aiden.

Alexander Rokeby’s death had been tragic. He had, in the last second, thrown himself in front of Strike, Robin and the baby and taken the seven bullets aimed for them. He had only gotten a few seconds left to live afterwards, and Robin had taken his gun and shot Prudence. Luckily, Robin respected life too much to have ever gone hunting in her life and her lack of training reflected in the angry shot she had aimed to Prudence’s head, hitting her shoulder instead. Prudence’s gun had fallen and she had agonized in pain for the twenty long minutes the police and an ambulance needed to arrive.

“Say hi to h-her from me, w-will you?” Al had whispered hoarsely smiling at them as he coughed out blood. “Y-you a-are gonna be a-amazing p-parents...” and his heart had stopped beating. Strike’s calloused fingers had closed his eyes and Robin had cried like she had only cried when Stephen’s dog died when they were little. Strike hadn’t, but he had looked grim and sad ever since, permanently looking as if he was about to cry but never shedding a tear. Robin wondered at times if he knew how to cry all he was feeling.

They got in a taxi in silence, and seeing their faces the chauffeur didn’t try to start conversation. It was normal when they had been picked up from the airport.

“How did it go?” Lucy asked softly as she kissed her brother’s cheek, sitting down for lunch at a restaurant downtown London. It was the celebratory drink for a murderer who was in prison, but this time it was bittersweet, when two people had died for it and the killer had been family, although Strike felt no attachment towards her.

“Sad. His mum was zombie on antidepressants,” said Strike, gulping a painkiller with a glass of water. “And we’ve found out Al left us a ton of money. A big one.”

“How come?” Ilsa asked gently.

“Jonny didn’t leave me a penny,” said Strike, sighing. “It pissed Al off big time, apparently he thought it was the least Rokeby owed me, and he was also pissed off because his father cheated again, so... And his lawyer was in the funeral, and he came to us and said from what he was inheriting from Rokeby, he wanted fifty percent to come to us. Turns out that fifty percent is two and...” he looked around, making sure no one else was listening. “Five zeros. Al said he’d make us accept it by saying it was a present for his niece.”

“Shit...” Nick’s mouth made an ‘o’ and he forgot to keep feeding Zahara for a second. “Are you accepting it then?”

“Yes,” Robin nodded, looking at Strike for a moment. “We talked about it and... it was what Al wanted, for us, for our daughter... he felt in debt and it seems fair, you know? Cormoran was his son too, he should’ve gotten something right away. And it’s for Aiden, not really for us.”

“Exactly,” said Strike. “I don’t want a penny of his filthy money... but I can’t be an irresponsible dad, right? We still don’t know if Aiden will have any kind of struggles or disabilities or syndromes, and if we have something that can be good for her, then I’m not going to be the one to deny it from her. We’ll count it as Uncle Al’s money, not Rokeby’s... and it’ll all go for a deposit just for Aiden, when she’s 21 she can do whatever she wants with whatever amount is still there.”

“I think is a good idea of good, responsible parents,” Lucy opined. Her lips formed a small smile towards Strike and he nodded, satisfied.

“I think she’s really going to like Uncle Al,” Ilsa joked with a chuckle, raising her cup. “Cheers to Al?”

“To Al!”

**. . .**

Robin was thirty-four weeks pregnant when she came out with something both deeply moving and sentimental and also a little bit nerve-wrecking for Strike. One day he went to make themselves tea at the office and his eyes immediately caught vision of the pictures taped to the window above the sink, one through he would usually get a blurred vision of the inner office. Instead, there were several pictures taped one next to the other, forming a diagram of pictures united by a cord that was also taped to the glass, connecting them to a simple sentence on top of them all, at the head of the diagram: ‘Reasons why’. Each picture was of someone they had helped or for whom they had wanted to do justice. Leda, Al, Orlando Quine’s bird, Kelsey Platt, Lula Landry, Charlie Bristow... everyone was there. Leda was the only one whose case wasn’t quite closed, but it was still something to keep them going, but everyone else, from people from insignificant cases, to people from major murder investigations, were people they had done justice to over the years the office had been opened, or helped in some way, people who reminded them why they did what they did and that it was worth it. Strike understood right away and turned around. Robin was turned towards him but she wasn’t looking at him, she looked at the pictures.

“Is it okay?” Robin whispered finally moving her eyes towards him.

“Yeah,” Strike nodded, handing her a cup of tea that she accepted, leaning back on her chair with it.

She was considerably big now, her cheeks fuller and glowing, her arms and hand a bit fuller too, her ankles slightly swollen even. Her breasts had grown four sizes, according to Robin herself, her hips were wider and she was curvier than ever, which Strike thought fit her just right. He had read somewhere that the reason pregnant women tended to seem even more beautiful than usual was because a thing related to chemicals, hormones and  _science_ happening in woman as their bodies changed normal behaviour to create another person, and this thing made their skin heal up and glow, between other things. Robin’s had become even softer and her freckles seemed to be more noticeable.

Strike just pinched him every day waiting for the day he would wake up, every time finding it hard to believe that a woman like Robin had chosen  _him_ of all people.

“I thought of these hard days when it doesn’t seem like we’re winning... and I figured we needed a reminder that we always succeed in the end and that what we do makes people happy or brings some justice to those who can no longer ask for it,” Robin shrugged, apologetic.

“It’s a great idea,” Strike left his own mug on her desk and cupped her big cheeks between his big hands, pulling her in for a kiss. Their lips touched with familiarity, pressing in just the right way to make them hum. Robin wondered every time how had she lived without the tickling of his beard against her lips. “How are you two doing today?” he asked softly as he pulled apart, one of his big hands caressing her belly.

“We’re good,” Robin smiled grabbing him from the hips and pulling him in for a cuddle. She was very cuddly these days and Strike didn’t really mind. “We’re super good.” Robin added with a content sigh supporting her face in his belly. He chuckled, caressing her head.

A knock on the door pulled them apart brusquely and both turned around. There was a blurry figure waiting patiently on the other side of the glass.

“Come in,” said Strike, stepping forwards towards the door. A young couple entered holding hands. They couldn’t be older than thirty and they looked nervous. “Hi, I’m Cormoran Strike.” He shook their hands.

“We don’t have an appointment,” the woman said nervously.

“That’s okay, we’re free now,” Strike smiled politely, motioning for them to sit on the sofa “Can I offer you some tea, water, coffee?”

“Tea’s fine, thanks,” the man nodded. The woman nodded in agreement and Robin stood up and shook their hands too.

“Robin Ellacott, nice to meet you. How can we help you?” Robin asked with a sincere smile, sitting back down as the couple took the sofa and Strike manoeuvred in the kitchenette.

“I’m Fera Pollington, and this is my husband Louis. Thing is, we just had our first child, Kyle,” The woman said with a friendly voice. “We moved to this old house in East Finchley recently and well... we think there’s a ghost.”

 

 

 


	42. Haunted house

**Chapter 42:**

Robin’s eyebrows raised and Strike turned around to face them, eyes wide.

“We’re not crazy, although we know how it sounds,” Louis said, reasonably nervous, seeing their faces. “You have to believe us, no one does... and we’ve tried to find a logical explanation, really. It’s a terror house in there. We’ve had to go to my parents’, Kyle spent the nights crying.”

“We don’t think you’re crazy,” Robin hurried up to say. _Talk for yourself_ , thought Strike. “It’s just... this is a first, to be honest. We’ve had unfaithful people the most, people asking to find people, people dying... but haunted houses...” she chuckled. “I’m excited.” The Pollingtons seemed relieved right away.

“What exactly happens there?” Strike asked, handing them their mugs and sitting on a corner of Robin’s desk. It cracked under his weight.

“Well it’s a big house from the sixteenth century, but remodelled and fully modernised,” Louis explained. “We loved it right away. We’ve had some bad experiences before buying places that seemed all good at first and then weren’t so good, so first thing we did was make sure all worked perfectly fine, and it did. Then the screams started.”

“Screams?” Robin asked, frowning.

“Yeah,” Fera nodded. “Heart-wrenching screams, as if of a little girl, downstairs. Woke us up and we’re sceptic people so he just thought it was an animal or something... we ran to check, the screams stopped and no one was there. Nothing. Then Kyle stars crying and a window spontaneously breaks in the sitting room. All at once.”

“Nothing broke the window,” Louis cleared out. “It shattered, to dust. It became dust before our eyes, literally. And then the next day it was like new.”

“You’re joking...” Strike muttered.

“That’s what the Met said before laughing in our faces,” Fera looked genuinely asked. “Look, we’d move out, but we spent a lot of money, we won’t get it back, and how are we going to sell it? We feel bad passing the problem to someone else.”

“Is that all that happened?” Robin asked, leaning forward as much as her belly allowed.

“No,” Louis shook his head. “We’ve stayed there for two weeks. We had only been there for three days when we started feeling uneasy, sometimes sick... we saw things. Heard things. Voices. We thought we were going mad and then my parents stayed one weekend and said the same things! Mum got so scared once she almost had a heart attack. One day the basement filled with water, spontaneously. We saw it, got out of it, called the plumber... and we waited for him in the basement, with Kyle in the arms, trying to figure out where did so much water come from? We left the basement only when the plumber arrived, came back with him and kid you not, the water was gone. The guy laughed in our faces, we thought we had gone mad!”

“Shit...” Robin, who had always loved ghost stories, had her jaw dropped.

“Voices are heard from the headphones too.” Fera added.

“Interferences, it happens,” Strike reasoned.

“Yeah, but with all else, who knows?” Fera shrugged. “We’ve seen things around too, scary things...”

“If we find out you’re fooling around, we’ll end up in court,” said Strike very seriously to the couple.

“It’s not a manipulation!” Fera cried. Her pale blue eyes looked genuinely anguished and she chocked back a sob. “We just want you to figure out what’s going on, we’ll pay...” Her husband put an arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“We don’t know who else to go to,” Louis said. “The company that sold us the house thinks we’re lying and refuse to come and check with their own eyes. They said the house has been for sale for over five years after the old woman who lived there died and no one has ever seen anything odd. You need to find out what’s going on, if it’s a ghost or someone fucking with us or... I don’t know, magnetism or some science stuff. But we also feel very sick and dizzy sometimes, as if we were drunk. Only when in the house.”

“Well all of this can probably be scientifically explained,” said Strike matter-of-factly. “It’s a matter of perception really, what we see and hear in one way may actually be in some other way, they do this in movies, after all. We will visit your house and check it thoroughly for anything odd, but if we can’t find a logical explanation, which I highly doubt, but if we can’t... then maybe it would be time for you to find a professional of the paranormal. Those people exist, we can find one for you.”

“So you think is not a ghost?” Fera asked hopeful. Robin looked at Strike with interest and he breathed out, cocking his head.

“I highly doubt it is. I’m a sceptic, I don’t believe ghosts truly exist and as far as I’m concerned, science hasn’t been able to prove it thoroughly.”

“I believe in ghosts,” said Robin, amused, leaning back. “So this is going to be interesting, either we’ll find out a proof of something very paranormal or we’ll find out a very odd combination of scientifically-explained events. Whatever it is, I’m all down for it.” Strike raised his eyebrows looking at her full of curiosity.

After agreeing on seeing the house the next day, they bid farewell to the couple, that left the office more relieved and calm than they had entered, and Strike went to buy them some lunch. Strike came back into the office half an hour later with a pasta salad and a juice for Robin and a coke and a sandwich for himself and they both sat on the sofa to ear and discuss their ghost case.

“So you do believe in ghosts?” Strike asked amused, looking at Robin, who was using her belly as a table to support the plastic container of the salad. She nodded.

“My theory is, we all have a soul, right? We have a certain energy, a vibe people perceive and either we give them Goosebumps or we make them feel at home right away. Yes, a big part of it is psychological, a big part of it is personality traits stored in our brains... but I believe there’s something else,” said Robin under Strike’s curious eyes, her long strawberry hair up in the messiest of bumps so she could eat without having it shoved in her face. “And I think sometimes, when a soul suffers a lot and leaves in a bad way, a part of them stays behind. A part of them can’t go, you know? Not necessarily because they seek for revenge, but because they can’t get over what happened, so they stay trying to get it or something, I don’t know. I think haunted places are just places full of so much negative energy because many bad things happened in them, and that if someone’s perceptive enough they can actually feel overwhelmed by it. Like mediums.”

“Mediums aren’t real...”

“Most of them, right, but I think there’s people who actually can perceive beyond the ordinary,” Robin shrugged. “People too scared to say it out loud. Witchcraft didn’t just appear in the human mind, you know? But I also believe in magic so... I guess you can have a laugh.” She chuckled at him, not minding if he was sceptical.

“I won’t laugh, although I didn’t think you were a believer,” Strike reached to caress the back of her neck. He liked to feel with the tip of his fingers the warm skin there, the tickling of the small hairs that grew around, the softness of the skin.

“Don’t you ever feel your mum?” Robin asked suddenly, looking at him. “I don’t mean as a ghost, I mean... just the feeling that she’s there. Like a shift in the air.”

“No,” replied Strike sincerely, looking around. “I hope she went wherever she was supposed to go. That she didn’t stick behind.” Robin nodded slowly. She finished the last of her salad as he finished his sandwich and threw the package into the little bin nearby.

“I think I saw a ghost once,” said Robin, to Strike’s surprise. He looked at her with widening eyes.

“You _think_?” She shrugged.

“I was six, I don’t remember very clearly,” said Robin. “There was this girl in my class, her name was Jolie. I barely knew her and she was barely around because she had cancer, and one day, I was playing in the countryside with my brothers after lunch, we had gone on a picnic. And I saw her.”

“How do you know she was a ghost?” Strike asked.

“I remember it as a very weird thing, something so weird I still remember, you see? It just stuck with me. My brother Stephen had thrown the ball too far, I went to fetch it behind some bushes, and I saw Jolie right in front of me, there, just like I see you now. But her eyes were transfixed... her skin and lips pale. She didn’t look at me. I saluted her, she ignored me, and I shrugged it off and left. Like I said, I barely knew her so I figured she didn’t want to talk to me. The next day, my school teacher told us Jolie had died the morning before.” Strike’s jaw dropped.

“Fuck me.”

“That’s what I thought,” Robin snorted a laugh. “I was so confused. I said I was sure I had seen her, and I insisted so much my parents took me to therapy.”

“You’re kidding!” Robin shook her head, amused at his amazement.

“They are convinced I saw something very alike, but I’m sure it was here. I’ve gone back several times, looking to see her... but for what I’ve read about ghosts, they don’t usually come if you look for them. I don’t know why Jolie was there, but she was. I don’t think she knew what had happened... but hopefully, by now she’s resting in peace. Her family was heartbroken.”

“Understandably,” Strike nodded, unconsciously reaching a hand to Robin’s belly. “That’s incredible. So no way convincing you they don’t exist.” Robin laughed and shook her head. “Is it the only ghost you’ve seen?”

“Yeah, that I know of,” said Robin mysteriously. “I read once in some science journal that there’s a belief when little children talk to an ‘imaginary friend’ they actually are talking with a ghost. Apparently children are more innocent and hence, more perceptive.” Strike nodded slowly.

“I don’t think you should come to the house,” Strike braved up to say. He had been thinking about it for a while, mustering up the courage to tell her. As he had imagined, Robin immediately frowned. “I just think if things get dangerous, you’re pregnant. What if you fall downstairs? What if there really is something in there? What if you get worked-up and the stress hurts the baby? Even more now that you’re telling me that you might see something in there if there is something to see. It could be a rocky night. It’s not good for Aiden.” Robin breathed out harshly and leaned back in her seat. “Robin look, if Aiden wasn’t inside of you then I wouldn’t have an issue but I can’t protect her any other way than keeping you away.”

“Cormoran, precisely because I believe we are going to see something, I’m prepared for it. I won’t flip and get overworked, at least not too much...” Robin shrugged. “And if witnessing a murder didn’t provoke damage to the baby even less now.”

“Okay but...”

“I agree I shouldn’t go but I think is even more important that you don’t go alone. You don’t believe in it so if there’s something, it’s gonna catch you by surprise and you can’t combat something you can’t see, Corm. Besides, your leg! It makes you an easy target, I’m not letting you go alone and we aren’t risking anyone else, that family has suffered enough. This is my job. I’ll be extra careful and as long as we have one another we’ll be fine, we always are.”

“I don’t like this...”

“Me neither,” Robin kissed him briefly. “But it’s our job. No one else’s. We can’t always delegate.” Strike sighed and nodded.

They were in for an adventure.

 


	43. Scared as hell

**Chapter 43:**

The next day, Strike and Robin went for an experiment of spending a night in the house of the Pollingtons, passing by the grandparents’ house to pick up the keys. Strike drove a car they had rented and they were in the house in no too much time. It was a charming house with a beautiful garden and a few neighbours who didn’t seem to cause problem; an ideal place to live. The huge magnolia tree by the front door reminded Strike of Lucy’s house as he carried their holdalls inside.

“It seems nice,” commented Strike as they walked inside. Robin was looking excited, walking calmly next to him.

“Huge place too,” Robin looked in admiration around while Strike opened the door.

The house looked as if it had been built shortly ago. Everything still smelt like new, the paint was clean and like the owners had said, the furnishing was new and the doors didn’t make a sound when opened and closed. Strike whistled in appreciation as they walked to the guest room and got comfortable. Then they explored the house together, finding nothing out of the ordinary, and no sound but the birds outside.

Then they went to cook dinner and Robin approached the window that had reportedly become dust before the Pollingtons’ eyes.

“It seems normal, firm, right...” Robin knocked on the window, but it was solid. Strike looked briefly from the stove. “I do feel a little uneasy though, probably just the excitement.”

“The basement looked normal too,” Strike shrugged. “It did take the Pollingtons three days to start seeing and hearing things, so perhaps we won’t witness a thing.”

“I propose at the very first sign of something paranormal, we pick up our things and leave. We don’t need to see much and I do want to be extra careful, for Aiden,” said Robin, setting the table for two in the modern, long, glass table.

They had dinner and observed around the house again as it got dark, just in case with the darkness something different was perceived. They watched TV to kill some time for an hour, did some work, felt nothing weird aside from Strike catching a headache and Robin feeling uneasier and dizzy, so they decided to go to bed, convinced that the house just had some bad vibes for some strange reason and nothing more.

It was near four in the morning when Robin woke up, startled, and woke Strike up.

“W-what?” Strike asked seeing Robin nervous, sitting up in bed with the lights on.

“I’m positive I heard a laugh.”

“A laugh? Inside the house?” Strike frowned, getting his leg and putting it on. “God my headache is getting worse, I think I’m going to throw up...” Strike grumbled getting up. It was then that he heard it. A laugh, clear, scary, child-like, coming from what seemed to be downstairs. Robin and him exchanged terrified looks, both feeling Goosebumps.

“You heard it right?”

“I did,” Strike nodded, feeling his scepticism wash away. “What the fuck?”

“Maybe we left the TV on,” Robin suggested. The laugh had stopped but they felt uneasy.

“No we didn’t.” Then they heard cracking of wood, except that the house was too recently remodelled for the wood to crack at all.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Robin whispered quietly. “Now...” Strike nodded.

“Do you feel anything abnormal?” Strike asked. He breathed deeply, looking at Robin and calming his nerves. He was a soldier, he had just been influenced by Robin’s story and the Pollingtons. They probably had imagined the noises.

“I feel uneasy, I feel scared, I feel dizzy, I feel weak, I feel watched...” said Robin, already dressing up and throwing their little belongings in the holdalls. “And you just admitted you’re feeling sick. What else do we need?”

“Get in the car,” Strike helped her get their things ready and started getting dressed. “I’m going to look around again. We have to have missed something.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone,” Robin shot him a look. “I’ll look with you.”

“You...” a squeak echoed in the house, like one of a door but much more powerfully, and they shut up. Strike forgot his train of thought. Robin yelped and pointed to the empty bed.

“Spiders, many spiders!” Strike jumped from her yelp and looked around.

“There’s nothing there, Robin,” said Strike, frowning. “There’s nothing there.” He repeated looking at Robin and caressing her cheek.

“I could’ve sworn I saw...” Robin sighed, shaking her head.

“We shouldn’t have heard the stories,” Strike smiled. “We’re imagining things up.”

“I would like to go, Cormoran. Can’t we recheck in the morning?” Robin gave Strike pouty eyes. “I feel really sick now...”

“Yeah, me too,” Strike was having a strong sudden urge to puke. “Okay, we’ll come back tomorrow. We’ll tell them we felt sick, it’s the truth. You’re pregnant, I won’t have you here feeling bad.”

The two grabbed the last of their things and headed downstairs, turning lights on as they went. Robin was just about to open the main door to get out when Strike gasped looking behind Robin and she turned around with a jolt, feeling her heart in her throat. She had seen Strike’s face; pale, eyes widened. But nothing was there.

“What?” Robin asked, finally opening the door. Strike now looked baffled.

“I saw my mum,” said Strike, looking around briefly before following her outside. “I could have sworn I saw my mum standing there, just like that...”

“What would your mum be doing here?” Robin questioned.

“Why would a bunch of spiders suddenly appear on the bed?” added Strike.

“Point taken...” They sat in the car and slowly but steadily started feeling less sick, back to normal. Then suddenly Strike got an idea.

“Carbon monoxide poisoning,” he breathed out. “Of course. The house has just been remodelled, they must’ve screwed up the gas installation.”

“Oh shit,” Robin’s eyes widened. “You’re right! It must be in the kitchen, that’s why they feel particularly bad at night, after they’ve just been busy with dinner. Is the longest meal, right? They probably have lunch at work, and take only a brief breakfast before they leave, so it’s at night when they’re home, chilling...”

“And getting poisoned,” Strike nodded, searching in his phone. “Look, hallucinations are between the symptoms. You saw spiders because you hate them, you were scared and thinking of things that scare you and I saw my mum because I unconsciously wanted to, influenced by your story probably.”

“How did we hear the same things though?” Robin questioned.

“We don’t know what the other actually heard, and the human brain is inclined to try to force their perceptions to what others describe. For example if I say something’s grey and ten people tell me it’s white, I’ll be inclined to think it is white.”

“Right, yeah,” Robin nodded. “Psychology does have some theories about it. So what do we do now, call 999?”

“Yeah...”

**. . .**

“...thankfully, we only spent a few hours there, so the doctor said we’re alright, even the little one. And the Pollingtons will be back home as soon as the professionals have finished up in the house.” Finished explaining Robin, sitting on Lucy’s sofa with a mug of tea the blonde had offered her.

They had been invited to tea in the house in Bromley, two days after leaving the Pollingtons’ house, and Lucy, Greg and the boys were dying to hear the ghost stories. Strike sat next to Robin putting an arm around her shoulders and Jack sat next to him full of excitement. The boys adored Robin, for a change, and now there was a picture of Lucy, Greg, Ted, Joan, pregnant Robin and Strike, with the three boys in the front, on a shelf of the sitting-room, signalling the growth of the family.

“Oh, I was excited thinking there _would_ be ghosts,” Jack pouted, bummed. Robin smiled at him sympathetically.

“Me too buddy, what a bugger,” Jack snorted a laugh at her and she chuckled. She knew Jack had the same adoration for her accent when she said that word that Strike had.

“Thankfully everyone is alright,” said Lucy leaning back on her armchair with a coffee. Her littlest sat on her knees for a cuddle, and she kept an arm around him as he leaned against her chest.

“Miracle is that even the baby is okay,” Greg sighed, shaking his head. “What a disaster...”

“The baby wasn’t exposed that much apparently, since his bedroom usually has the window opened and it’s far from any gas zones. He usually stays in his crib most of the day, being so little,” explained Strike. “Although he did got a bit nauseous when they were first in the house.”

“Did they pay well?” Strike’s oldest nephew asked. He was kneeling on the carpet playing with some toy cars.

“Yeah, they were very grateful,” answered Robin. “We did feel a bit bad having them pay though, they must’ve been awful.”

“I admit it was a scary experience, the f- effin house,” said Strike, looking back to his memories. Robin smiled sweetly at him.

“I saw colour leave your face,” said Robin, making the boys laugh. Strike rolled eyes but smiled a little, without hard feelings.

“So ghosts don’t exist?” the littlest boy asked, a bit scared.

“I don’t know love,” his mother kissed his forehead. “But none of us has ever seen one,” Robin pretended to be very interested in the new curtains, “and I can assure you there’s none in this house.” The boy seemed to breathe calmer then.

 

 

 


	44. She's home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again if 10 of you so request it, I will publish the part 2!

**Chapter 44:**

October brought furious storms and heavy rains that, one year more, reflected in the increasing amounts of reports of floods on the news. As Zahara turned her first year of life already crawling around and talking small words, Robin embraced the final stretch of her pregnancy, feeling too heavy and big to move much and therefore, finally acceding to go on the shortest pre-birth maternal leave in the history of England, as Nick had affectionately nicknamed it.

But truth was, Robin was bored to death sitting in the house doing nothing while Strike went to work. She still did computer work, but even standing to cook became too exhausting if it was longer than twenty minutes, let alone going to work. So Robin sat on the sofa most of her days with ‘Harry Potter’ and a box of tissues because suddenly she couldn’t go through Dobby’s death without crying like a baby, and resigned to boredom. Every time Strike called to check on her he was met with either pleads to come back home because she was bored or sobbing because ‘Dobby was  _such_ a good boy!’ There were also moments of absolute exhaustion in which Robin would just pass out on the sofa, but those didn’t happen enough to avoid her intense boredom.

It was only when the third day of the month came that Robin was sure that the weird feelings she had been having for about twenty-four hours and that she had assumed were false alarms, were, in fact, the preparation for an imminent birth. She had been checking her symptoms with her midwife on the phone and she got the confirmation.

“Cormoran?” Robin hung up and walked slowly but steadily to the bathroom, where Strike was standing in front of the mirror shirtless, methodically shaving.

“Uh?” Strike asked focused on his task.

“Put the blade away from your face for one minute please,” Robin requested with a soft side smile. Strike did so without questioning and looked at her, curious. “I’m in labour.”

Strike looked at her intensely for a moment before the sentence took full meaning in his head and his eyes widened.

“Right, let me get a shirt and I’ll drive you to the...”

“Relax, Corm, we don’t need to go yet,” Robin smiled putting a hand on his chest, the soft furr soft against her hand and his heart beating strongly under her hand, like a bull. “I was talking with Sydney and she said it’s going slow, that this is just the very beginning. Could take hours, even a whole day yet before I’m at the hospital point, it’s just that my body is starting to move. But we could start calling St. Mawes and Masham, for the people that needs hours to get here?” Strike nodded energetically.

“Sure, I’ll finish shaving and get on it then.”

“Okay,” Robin gave him a little peck on the lips and carefully made her way downstairs. It was time for a good ‘Billy Elliott’ movie and some mini-prunes, her pregnancy popcorn.

Strike finished shaving and getting dressed, made sure their baby bag was completely ready and in the car, along with the car chair and anything else they might need, and called his aunt and uncle, Robin’s parents, and each of the three Ellacott brothers, making sure they understood it would still take a long time, but so they could be there on time. Then he flopped on the sofa as Mr. Elliott started supporting Billy’s talent, across from Robin, and brought her swollen feet to his lap, massaging them. Robin smiled at her softly.

“That feels good.” Strike smiled at her and continued the massage. He was strangely calm, relaxed, which was weird for a man that would be a father in a matter of hours and no longer of an unborn ‘thing’ but of a very real baby girl. Somehow the idea that Aiden did in fact exist and would be in his arms shortly, where he could personally look after her and shield her from the world was soothing. “We’ll be better than them, won’t we?” Robin pointed to the screen.

“Uh?” Robin snorted a laugh.

“We will support and love our daughter however she is and whatever she chooses to do. From the very start.” She clarified. Strike looked briefly at Billy and thought of his mother’s laughter, her hugs, and the pride she always got with any of Strike’s achievements.

“Definitely,” he breathed out. “Even if she’s gay.”

“Or even if she’s not a she.” The two exchanged glances, Robin chuckled and Strike nodded.

“Even if she’s not a she. If she wants us to call her Waldo, I will.” Strike affirmed. Robin laughed and Strike felt her laughter swell his chest inside.

They carried on with the day was normal, with the exception of no work, choosing instead a very long walk to try to speed things, and Strike prepared Robin a warm bath so she could relax, making her a generous dinner full of what Robin called ‘yumminess’. All Strike knew about the word was that it meant food was truly good. Then Strike read ‘Catullus’ to Aiden and Robin fell asleep with his soothing voice, sexier as he spoke words she couldn’t understand.

The family arrived early morning like a school excursion, and the house was full of noise while Strike cooked British breakfast for everyone and made more tea than he had probably ever made at once. He called all their clients letting them now the office would be closed for the rest of October as they accommodated to the new member of their family and he got dressed and checked once more that everything was ready while Robin chatted with the family while bouncing on a giant plastic ball that was supposed to help with things and groaned when the stronger contractions arrived.

“Nervous, daddy?” Lucy, who had driven their uncle and aunt there after they had accommodated in her guest room, chuckled at her brother as he flopped on the sofa.

“Funnily enough I haven’t been so relaxed in the entire pregnancy,” said Strike calmly. “All ready now, called the clients and all,” he added for Robin, who nodded and raised hands up for a high five that Strike agreed to.

“Let’s do this!” Robin cheered. “I think it’s going to be today, definitely. I’ve got a hunch.”

“Oh, another Libra in the family,” Michael laughed.

“Good things are born in October,” Strike winked at Robin. “Do you need anything? Feet rub?”

“Shoulder rub would be great,” Robin requested, and Strike moved to it right away.

Strike drove Robin to the hospital a few hours before dinner, when the contractions were so intense and every such little time Robin was ready to push Aiden right away. Strike stood by her amazed at her hard work and her refusal for the epidural, just holding her hand and encouraging her like he had always done. He told her how well she was doing, how beautiful she was, how brave and strong, anything he could think of. Strike felt full of excitement even if he also felt terrible for the incredible pain he knew Robin was in the moment tears starting falling silently down her cheeks.

“Come on warrior, she’s almost here!” Strike kissed her sweaty forehead as she lied on the bed all open-legged, squeezing his hand so hard his fingers looked white.

“Dear fucking God!” Robin shouted in frustration. She had felt Aiden about to make it out –at least her tiny head, that now felt enormous- a few times, but every time she was about to pop out, she went back in.

“Hey, look at me,” Strike caressed her face locking eyes with her. She was silently sobbing in frustration and pain, and her cheeks were all blushed, her face covered in sweat. Strike felt the words drumming in his chest before they came out. “I love you, Robin. I’m completely in love with you,” Robin’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. “Now let’s do this. Together, love.” Robin pulled him to an intense kiss, their foreheads pressed together as they pulled out for air.

“I love you too, Corm. I do.” Robin caressed his cheek as they met in another kiss that only ended when she felt the urge to push again. Strike held her hand tightly, putting another on her back, and encouraged her enthusiastically through one last strong push that got Aiden all out at once, her cries filling the room and Robin’s relieved cry echoing as she let her head fall against his belly, Strike putting his arms around her as he grinned stupidly and Aiden was handed to Robin.

 


End file.
